


Shadows of Our Yesterdays (and Ghosts of Our Tomorrows)

by paleogymnast



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Angst, Disturbing Themes, Eating Disorder, Illness, M/M, Non-Graphic Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paleogymnast/pseuds/paleogymnast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of trying to be someone he wasn't, Leonard McCoy's life imploded.  He lost everything, including a relationship with his daughter, Joanna.  Five years later, Leo is now Bones and has found everything he never thought he could have—a career in Starfleet, a new name and identity all his own, and possibly <i>love</i> with his best friend James T. Kirk.  But when Joanna falls ill with a rare disease, Bones is suddenly allowed back into her life and offered an unexpected opportunity to atone for the sins of his past.  And if he succeeds, he's faced with a seemingly impossible quandary: stay in Georgia and be the father he always thought he should be, or go back to the <i>Enterprise</i> and claim the life he's always dreamed of having.  This is the story of one man's journey through the demons of his past and into the possibilities of the future, from lost to found, from isolation to family.</p><p>Written for <a>TrekReverseBang</a>. Based on art by <a href="coldmero.livejournal.com">coldmero</a> found <a href="http://cold-melissa.deviantart.com/art/Shadows-of-Our-Yesterdays-163748989">here on deviantart</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows of Our Yesterdays (and Ghosts of Our Tomorrows)

** _Shadows of Our Yesterdays (and Ghosts of Our Tomorrows)_ **

** Part 1: Revelations **

The _Enterprise_ hummed quietly around him with the muted sounds of gamma shift as Bones strolled down the corridor. Once upon a time—ok five years ago, for sure—Bones would have found the sounds of the ship and the silence of space to be _anxiety-inducing_ at best. Now, two years into the _Enterprise's_ first five-year mission, after the academy and the _Narada_ incident and losing Vulcan and almost losing Earth, Bones found the sounds peaceful, soothing. Of course, five years ago, he wasn't Bones, he was still Leonard—Leo—McCoy, and he'd never dreamed he could be comfortable—happy even—in space. But Leo had never been happy or comfortable anywhere, not genuinely and without reservation; in fact, Leo had never been _real_—he'd been a construct, a facade, a persona and illusion Bones tried to slip into to make himself fit... to make himself live up to the expectations of family, culture, and community. But when all that fell apart, Bones had finally found himself, and shed Leo for good.

And he had one wonderful (infuriating, stubborn, childish, obnoxious) and brave man to thank for it. The man who'd _named_ him and showed him how not to be afraid. The man Bones had risked everything to drag into space with him. The man whose quarters he'd just left... James Tiberius Kirk.

Bones smiled as he passed a young science ensign in the hall, tipping his head in greeting as he was lost in thought. It was late, and he was heading back to his quarters. But soon, maybe he wouldn't have to walk along these halls each night leaving Jim behind.

They hadn't committed to anything, not yet anyway, but their relationship had been slowly, inexorably drawing them closer and closer together, towards what felt like the inevitable conclusion. The _Enterprise_ was going to be in spacedock for repairs and resupplying for the next two months, and in a week or so, he and Jim would be free—together—on shore leave, on _Earth_ for the first time since joining Starfleet. If everything went according to plans, they should have at least a month of vacationing alone together to sort out their relationship and —maybe, hopefully, definitely—take things to the next level. Bones was looking forward to it.

Only, Bones really should have known that nothing _ever_ goes according to plans. Not in Starfleet, and definitely not where he or Jim Kirk were concerned.

~~~

Bones awoke early the next morning. He had paperwork to get through—mountains and mountains of paperwork, it seemed—before they arrived at spacedock. He got up, stretched, and went through his usual morning routine: pushups, sit-ups, and a couple hundred jumping jacks in his quarters; then hitting the head to relieve himself, brush his teeth, and shave; before finishing off with a nice, relaxing sonic shower. The sequence was familiar and comforting, and he hummed tunelessly and smiled as he dressed for the day. He was catching breakfast with Jim in the mess before alpha shift, and then they'd part and go their separate ways… Jim to the bridge to do Captainy things and then off to his ready room to wade through his own Everest of paperwork, and Bones to sickbay to get through appointments with a dozen or so crewpersons and officers whose vaccinations or physicals were overdue and then off to his office to tackle the paperwork.

Breakfast went swimmingly; he and Jim flirted and maybe even kind of played footsie under the table, even though they were right there in the middle of the mess where anyone could see them. Bones was pretty sure Scotty was shooting approving glances at them, and once when he dropped his napkin, he caught Uhura shaking he head in a sort of exasperated knowingness that made him feel even more—giddy. Ok, so maybe he—maybe they both—were acting like love-struck teenagers, but that was just it. A few years ago, Bones could never have _done this_—indulged his feelings for Jim or even allowed himself to conceive of the possibility their friendship could develop into something more. Hell, when he was in med school, he'd probably have run the other way and not even let himself _befriend_ Jim for fear of what could happen. The _temptation_ would have terrified Leo, and he would have made himself sick trying to deny his heart's desire. But he wasn't Leo anymore.

He was Bones now, thanks to Jim. And Bones was pretty sure that five years ago, Jim would never have been secure enough in himself to even entertain the idea of a _relationship_, let alone the possibility of a serious relationship with his best friend. For that matter, back then Jim didn't even _have_ friends.

Bones's pleasant morning turned into a tedious, but still happy, afternoon as he finished the last of the physicals and started in on paperwork. Really, he would never understand _why_ so many people insisted on putting off a routine physical until the last minute; exams weren't even _invasive_ anymore. _It's not like we're living in the dark ages, or even the twenty-first century, when exams involved lots of uncomfortable poking and prodding and things that were down right… violations… of individual autonomy and bodily integrity_, Bones shuddered at the thought. Yet still, many members of the crew squirmed and ducked away from allowing a doctor to run a medical tricorder over them, shied away from having a biobed read their vitals, and even dodged the completely painless touch of a hypospray. Of course, Jim was the worst in that department. Bones chuckled at the mental image. Jim acted like hypos stung and biobeds burned, and he screamed and fussed and hated anything associated with medical treatment or even anything vaguely clinical.

But Jim had his reasons. Good reasons that made Bones shudder and feel sick when they came to mind. Jim's behavior had completely understandable—predictable, even—psychological bases, and Bones was slowly trying to accept and understand and help his best friend (and maybe more) work his way through… to overcome. And Jim was better; he was getting better. He didn't act like Bones had _stabbed_ him every time he needed a hypo (which, thanks to Jim's haywire immune system, was at least once a week), and Jim was more accepting of medical care—at least if Bones was the treating physician.

That still didn't explain the other yahoos who insisted on avoiding the doctor, and whose procrastination left Bones eating a chicken salad sandwich and his third (fourth?) cup of coffee at his desk instead of taking a proper lunch break that day. At the time, he thought nothing of it, because he and Jim had just commed back and forth sharing anecdotes (without violation confidentiality of course) about their common predicament—stuck in their offices with no time and too much paperwork. He'd verified that Jim was eating (_Yes, mother, I've got a bowl of vegan chili and a glass of iced green tea, are you happy?_), which was a constant source of concern. He'd then followed up by sending Spock a message to check on Jim in a half hour's time to make sure the food was really gone. (He was grateful that Jim and Spock were actually becoming friends now because two years ago, Spock would never have understood the _logic_ in needing to 'verify the gastronomical behaviors and activity of the Captain,' whereas now he acknowledged Bones's request without any bickering.)

Later on, however, Bones would wonder what would have happened if he hadn't been at his desk when the message came through. What if he'd gone to the mess? Or taken a break in the rec room? Or gone for a jog in the gym?

~~~

_Beep._ The alarm on the comm startled Bones enough to make him drop the PADD he'd been absorbed in, his vision starting to blur as he went over Lt. Peel's records for the third time, trying to figure out why her personnel file contained one fewer record of medical treatment than her medical file. The PADD clattered to the floor as Bones jerked with a start, almost knocking the shatterproof plate with the remains of his half-eaten sandwich on it to the ground.

The screen told him he had an incoming priority one subspace message _from Earth_, but not on an official Starfleet channel. Bones scratched his head in confusion for a moment, rubbing his fingers across bleary eyes as if maybe the message would resolve itself into something more… understandable? He could make sense of receiving a priority one message from the Admiralty or Starfleet Medical. He could understand having a priority one message from New Vulcan routed _through_ Starfleet Headquarters on its way to him. But outside of Starfleet and the colleagues—friends—he'd made in the Vulcan refugee community, Bones couldn't really think of anyone who'd contact him _from Earth_. He hadn't spoken to his mother since the aftermath of the Narada incident and he hadn't spoken to any of his sisters since he'd left Savannah. Things were still somewhat _awkward_ between him and his family, to put it lightly. Other than that… well, there was Jocelyn and, his heart clenched at the thought _Joanna_…

Bones tried to clamp down on the flood of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him every time he thought of his daughter growing up without him. She was _eleven_ now, her birthday had been a month ago. He'd sent the same recorded subspace message he did every year and made sure a gift—books, Vulcan classics this year, literature always seemed like a safe bet for someone he didn't really know anymore—and as usual received no response, no indication or confirmation she'd the message or gift had even arrived. Jocelyn's policy of radio silence in action, as usual. It didn't hurt as much as it used to. She had every reason and every right to hate him, and while he was finally strong enough to admit (and believe it—again, thanks mostly to Jim's influence) he didn't agree, he certainly understood where she was coming from in wanting to keep Jo away from him and his… influence. So, certainly it couldn't be Jocelyn (or Jo) contacting him now, could it?

Unless… _Unless something happened. Jo got sick, or hurt? Joce would tell me then, wouldn't she? Would she?_ His heart leapt in his throat as his hands skittered across his desk to the controls, pressing the button that would accept the incoming transmission. But then he hesitated, took a deep breath, and steadied himself. He was working on his aviaphobia, had been for the last five years, and that was exactly the same kind of irrational panic thinking that had him calculating the odds of dying from explosive decompression due to micrometeorite strike. Someone was contacting him, it was important, he had no reason to know who or why.

Feeling his heart rate slowing a little, he reached forward the rest of the way and pressed the button… only to suck in a startled gasp, gulping it back in another frenzied attempt to retain composure, when he saw his ex-wife's image filling the screen.

"Hi Leo," Jocelyn said, her tone and expression unreadable. She was sitting in front of the comm in what he thought he recognized as the living room of his—their—her house in Savannah. There was no desk or table between her and the screen—which came as a little bit of a surprise to Bones, since he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a call from someone who wasn't a Starfleet officer calling from their office or on-ship quarters. She was wearing a baby blue, boat neck sweater and knee length tweed skirt, and would have looked like perfect example of a modern Southern Belle if not for the unladylike crossed legs and her somewhat messy hair—strawberry blonde flyaways escaping from her hairdo and surrounding her head like a messy halo. Only there was nothing _angelic_ about Jocelyn Darnell, and right now she looked more _haggard_ than ethereal.

Bones cringed at the use of his old name. He entertained telling her that no one had really called him "Leo" or "Len" or even "Leonard" since his "Introduction to Astrophysics for Non-Tactical Cadets" course his first semester at the Academy, but decided against it. After all, he didn't know why Jocelyn was calling, and launching an in-depth explanation of his personal development and self-identity over the past five years, would be overkill if she was never going to talk to him beyond this subspace chat. "Hi, Joce," he answered instead, keeping his tone light and noncommittal and using the same degree of annoying familiarity she had used.

Jocelyn seemed to blanch at the nickname. She shifted in front of the comm, seeming almost twitchy, definitely uncomfortable—which was really unlike Jocelyn.

The only other time he'd seen her shift in her seat like that was the day she made him tell her parents why they were getting a divorce. Bones felt his expression sour at the recollection. Apparently she felt his—_failings_ had reflected poorly on her, at least as far as her parents were concerned. Bones pushed the memory to the back of his mind, shoving it down in the cramped space he had back there for all the thoughts and feelings and worries that threatened to overwhelm him and needed to be dealt with later when he had more control and perspective on the situation.

"Look, Leo, I'm sorry to be contacting you out of the blue, like this, but…" She trailed off, clearly struggling with what to say. "I know the _Enterprise_ is scheduled for shore leave on Earth for a couple of months. And I… I don't know…" she stuttered, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs and twisting at the hem of her skirt with her hands. "I don't know when you're going to be down here, or if you're coming, but…"

When her voice trailed off again, Bones couldn't take it anymore. This—awkwardness—painful, miserable, uncomfortable inability to communicate with a woman he'd once shared (_tried to share_) his life with made his stomach churn and his palms sweat and generally threatened to undo all the personal development and confidence he'd regained over the past five years. He just felt so _judged_ and guilty. "What, Jocelyn," he said, cutting the faux familiarity, "are you going to ask me not to come to Earth? Or reminding me to stay away from Georgia? I haven't forgotten about the restraining order, even if I do think it's unenforceable under Federation law." Ok, that sounded far more bitter than he would have liked, but Bones was unprepared. He'd been having a good day, and honestly, while he'd daydreamed wistfully about seeing _Jo_ while he was in the Sol system and had fretted over not being able to, he certainly hadn't thought about actually _confronting_ Jocelyn.

"Jesus Christ, Leonard! Do you have to make this so damn hard?" Jocelyn exclaimed, swiping angrily at her cheek. The way she said it, 'Jesus Christ' and 'damn,' was like he was tearing the words out of her, making her take the lord's name in vain, cuss, with his obstinate, disagreeable, maddening behavior. She probably thought that too, probably wouldn't swear if not for him, and Bones hated himself for it. Jocelyn had always been a good Southern girl—a genuinely nice woman—a person who never swore nor resorted to hyperbole nor spoke ill of others... unless she was really, really upset or felt betrayed by someone. And Bones knew he fit that category, that teeny tiny category of people who had wronged Jocelyn Darnell enough to bring out the worst in her. In all the hundreds of years of cultural evolution and enlightenment and the institution of an egalitarian world government and changing prejudices and stereotypes and new sources of xenophobia and racism Terrans developed as they'd been exposed to more alien species, a lot of things about good old Southern culture remained unchanged. Loyalty was first and foremost to the family, which was usually big and extended, and that loyalty included maintaining family reputation and status. Bones—or rather _Leo_—had failed rather miserably in that regard, one failing in a series that had earned him Jocelyn's undying disgust and disapproval.

Unfortunately that cut both ways. "Could you just get to the point?" he burst out trying not to explode or regress five years. "I'm sorry, Jocelyn," he tried, his tone pleading as he tugged at his blue uniform shirt and tried to compose himself. Maybe if he looked the part, he'd start feeling the confidence and self-acceptance he'd cultured during his time in Starfleet, his time knowing Jim. "Pardon me, but I wasn't expecting your call. You came through with priority one importance, so whatever it is, why don't we cut to the chase, so we can get out of each other's hair and stop making ourselves so miserable." He smiled, or at least it was supposed to be a smile; he had a feeling it came off more as a grimace.

Jocelyn swiped at her cheek again, only this time he could actually see tears rolling down her cheek, and the knot in his stomach started to tighten again, the fear and dread that something was really, terribly wrong ratcheting up, shoving aside the annoyance and anger that had temporarily taken its place. Jocelyn didn't cry, not in public, not even when it was just family around. Well, not unless her entire personality had changed drastically since they'd last talked. Joce only cried by herself and only then when something life-altering was happening. The last time he'd _seen_ her cry had been right after their big fight, the one in which _everything_ had come out and torpedoed their marriage. So, if she was crying now…

"Joce, what is it? What's wrong?" he asked, voice more hesitant, filling with concern and trepidation.

Onscreen Jocelyn sniffed, and tugged at her skirt a little more, but her demeanor still seemed more angry—_pissed_—than just outright sad. Rather than acknowledging Bones's olive branch, her jaw set in a hard line.

Bones tensed, bracing himself in anticipation of Jocelyn's tirade.

"You see, this is why I almost didn't tell you. Why… why I didn't say anything before now!" She was livid, her eyes and face turning red as her hands gesticulated in frustration.

"Why you didn't tell me what, Jocelyn? What are you talking abo—" he shot back, but his words died on his lips as she cut him off.

"You always think you can fix things. Just make it work. Gloss over the edges, and if you convince yourself, then it must be true. _Hah_!" she sniffed, her breath hitching in a heaving sigh. "Only there's some things that don't…. don't _ fix!_ That can't be made right or changed. Like… Like you! And our marriage. And now…" Jocelyn shook her head staring down at her hands which were once again clenching in her skirt.

He noticed she had a ring—an engagement ring by the looks of it—on her left hand, but she wasn't looking at it… seemed almost to be ignoring it. Her nails, usually freshly manicured, were broken short, ragged almost as if she'd been biting them and the polish was chipped and scratched and _plum-colored_, which didn't match anything she was wearing… The Jocelyn he knew had used nail lacquer like armor. Even on the day of the custody hearing—the day she'd taken Jo from him (maybe for the better, maybe not)—her nails had been polished a chip-free, sea foam green with a pearlescent top coat that had matched her retro-styled chenille suit perfectly. Bones remembered because he—Leo—had fixated on them. Their perfection and control had been so contrary to how he'd felt, and they'd symbolized everything that Jocelyn was that he wasn't—could never—be (in control, polished, proper, a good Southern child). The contrast between then and now sent shivers racing up and down his spine. "What is it? Jocelyn, what can't be fixed? What's wrong?" he pleaded, sliding forward on his chair and knocking the now-forgotten remains of the chicken salad sandwich onto the floor, the plate making a muted thump on the standard-issue Starfleet carpeting.

"You're going to be angry with me. You're going to get mad and rage and be furious because I didn't tell you before. Didn't tell you sooner and…" Jocelyn sighed, her chest heaving, "and you'd be right. I should have. You deserved to know. But I—I just wanted some time together, to work through it. You weren't there, you aren't ever going to be there, so it didn't feel right to drag you back in, or lay this on you when you were somewhere in deep space on some top-secret mission and wouldn't be able to do anything about it. I was protecting you as much as me and…" her voice trailed off again.

It was clear there was something—someone—she wasn't mentioning, and Bones could feel himself sliding closer and closer to the edge of his chair, closer and closer to the screen; his ears were ringing, his face was numb, and he could feel the sandwich turning to lead in his stomach. He wanted to plead again, to just get the answer, to short-circuit the growing tide of dread and disbelief inside him. But she had started talking again, and he couldn't—wouldn't—interrupt. Not now. Not when he was pretty sure he didn't want to hear.

"And I'll be honest, I'm only telling you now because you're here and _she_ asked me to tell you," Jocelyn finished, wiping her eyes again, the backs of both hands smearing across her tear-streaked face, no match for the dampness she found there.

"Who asked, Joce?" Bones whispered, his voice cracking. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Jo. Joanna asked me to tell you… because she's sick," Jocelyn said her voice coming through in a shaky version of its familiar controlled, commanding tone.

"Sick, sick how?" he asked, his hand gripping the desk in a vise-grip, this time knocking the coffee cup to the side, it sloshed over his hand, dribbling onto the floor, but he ignored it.

"Vespasian-Telos Lymphoma, Leonard!" He voice rang out, accusatory, blaming, hateful. "I… I'm sorry," she retreated, looking chagrined.

It was Bones' turn to look down at his hands. They were shaking. He understood the accusation, he was the carrier after all… or rather they both were, but… it was a rare genetic disease that only manifested when an individual had both copies of the recessive allele of one gene and specific allele of another related gene of which there were roughly a dozen common variations among the human population. Leo—Bones—was the carrier of one recessive and the specific allele of the second gene. Jocelyn had just contributed her recessive, but… "But, we _fixed_ that!" Bones stammered in disbelief. "She had the gene therapy _in utero_, they repaired my defective allele and she was supposed to be fine… she _was_ fine!" He couldn't keep the accusation out of his voice.

"See, I told you, always trying to _fix_ everything! You of all people could know you can't just _fix_ things. Look at how you tried to fix yourself, huh? How'd that work out?" Jocelyn spat back.

Bones was taken aback at the outburst, but he could see Joce was crying again… really crying. Tears streaming down her face. But still, that cut to the bone. He had tried to be someone he wasn't, and he'd married Jocelyn, and Joanna was the result. And he'd always felt like Jo was the one _good _ thing Leo McCoy had done, even if he fucked everything else up, even if he failed the people he loved again and again—from ruining Joce's dreams for the future to failing his father… At least Jo was someone good and pure and full of potential, and he'd helped bring her into the world. Only now, if what Joce was saying was true, had his misguided attempts to fix himself created Jo only to condemn her to a brief, miserable life of suffering? He shook himself mentally and physically. He couldn't—wouldn't—think that way. No. That was the same kind of bullshit that led to the Eugenics wars, people making value judgments about what life was worth living and trying to be 'better' more 'perfect'… whatever that meant. It was why gene therapy and modification was so tightly restricted. Restricted, but not prohibited altogether, and Vespasian-Telos was on the list of approved 'genetic defects' for which gene resequencing was permitted. They'd gotten Jo the treatment. She'd been fine—healthy and happy the last time he'd seen her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jocelyn was murmuring over and over, rocking in her seat. "I… That's not why I called. I didn't call to blame you. This… you couldn't have done anything."

"I—I don't understand, Jocelyn, how is Jo sick? She got the treatment, it worked?" he asked.

"She has a rare form. They said it's tertiary gene involvement. It's something the geneticists and the oncologists have only begun to study recently, so the doctors haven't been all that clear. Apparently there's another… gene; another gene that can have the same interaction to produce the same faulty proteins that lead to abnormal cell growth and formation. Only it… there's not just _one_ specific allele… there's a few. Really rare. Different ones, which is why they didn't catch it. They only cause problems when puberty starts and the hormone levels…" Jocelyn's voice broke and she hiccoughed.

Bones waited, not patiently, but too stunned to speak, his hands shaking, as Jocelyn gathered herself, wiping at her cheeks again and straightening in her chair. He recognized this. She was composing herself. Pulling back in, putting on the face she showed the world to say 'everything's just fine' even when the universe was crashing down around their ears. He'd seen it before. Hoped he'd never see it again.

"They've _saved_ a few kids by giving treatment to delay puberty," Jocelyn started looking pointedly at Bones as if expecting a response.

He nodded in acknowledgment, hoping it would prompt her to continue.

"But those are only the kids who… who have the bad genes they've already mapped. So they knew to test. Jo… was the first case with this specific tertiary gene interaction, so they didn't know… didn't know until she'd started puberty and it was too late and…" Jocelyn looked down at her hands, silent.

The silence stretched between them over the impossible distance of space. Only the dull hum of the _Enterprise's_ electronics and the thrum of the warp drive made any noise. They were sounds Bones had come to find familiar, comforting, over the past two years, but right now, they made him sick, claustrophobic. It was his aviaphobia rearing its ugly head again. Suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe, the walls were either closing in or flying apart, leaving him naked and alone in space without protection, ready for every single molecule of his body to burst as he succumbed to explosive decompression. Space—all that empty nothingness, still too much of it between him and his daughter, who needed him. "How—how long has Jo been sick?" Bones managed at last.

Jocelyn hiccoughed again, "A—a year—a little more," she sighed, "at first… it took about a month to figure out what was going on, but about a month before Jo turned ten, they had a diagnosis. We… we tried to see if we could get her on a list for follow-up treatment. But… they don't have a gene therapy for her strain yet, because it was brand new, and besides, the waiting list and applications for getting approved for a second genetic intervention are… well, it's almost impossible. They have to review each case through a three-tiered process, and it can take three years, and they look at the likelihood of success and how proven the treatment. They're scared, Leo. Scared that someone's going to try to use some sick person as a guinea pig and build another Khan Singh." She shuddered. Jocelyn was a historian; and Bones knew she understood better than most people where that fear came from. "_They're_ scared, but it's killing my little girl," she whispered.

"Joce," Bones croaked, his voice seeming to evaporate as the lump in his throat swelled, "how is she? Isn't there another treatment, something else they're trying?" He felt foolish as he spoke, after all _he_ was the doctor, _he_ was the one who knew how… _pessimistic_ the prognosis could be for cancers (human and otherwise) that didn't respond to the usual treatments modern medical science had spent roughly the last 300 years perfecting. And here he was asking—demanding, begging—Jocelyn to provide answers _he_ didn't have.

_How didn't I know?_ he asked himself. _Wouldn't I have heard something about rare strains of childhood cancer? Wouldn't I have sensed that there was something wrong with my daughter?_ But even as he wondered he knew the answers. _No._ Bones specialized in xenomedicine, not pediatrics or oncology, and while he had experience working with gene resequencing in limited, approved contexts, it wasn't his primary focus. Besides, he'd spent the last two years as CMO of the Federation's flagship, much of that time far, far from Earth. He'd had no contact with Joanna, and while he loved her very deeply he wasn't a telepath—his esper rating was pretty much nil. So, it was unsurprising he hadn't heard anything. And like it or not, Joce was right, if she'd commed him and told him what was going on while he was busy treating an outbreak on some distant planet or patching up war wounds from hostilities along the neutral zone... it would have tortured him, because there would be know way for him to help or even respond, at least not without abandoning his mission.... and he wasn't going to do that. Joce might think bad things about his ability to follow the Hippocratic Oath, but apparently even she didn't think he could abandon his post in a crisis.

After what was probably another long silence—Bones was too lost in thought to know for sure—he collected himself enough to ask the questions to which he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answers. "How… how's she doing?" he asked.

"Not well." Jocelyn's reply was terse, but she seemed to reconsider as wave of something, maybe compassion, possibly weariness, washing over her face. "She's been resilient, hanging in there, she'd probably say. Kept a positive attitude, and I think she's been trying to enjoy herself as much as possible." Jocelyn smiled her features filled with pride even as her tears welled up in her eyes again.

Bones knew it was pride because he could feel the same fire burning fiercely within him. _That's my girl_, he thought, even as the voice in the back of his mind reminded him he hadn't really had much influence over Joanna's life, at least not since she was six, and maybe even before.

"We don't know how long she has. It's been difficult... watching her get sicker." It could have been accusatory, but Jocelyn's voice held no anger.

"Isn't there something else... some other treatment... they could do? There must be something—" Bones could hear himself speaking the words, but he wasn't really thinking. The words were just coming. Here he was, CMO of the Federation flagship, and he was spluttering on about treatments and _something_ like any other, ignorant parent faced with disbelief at the impossibility his child could be dying. In the back of his mind, he was already running through possible alternatives, other types of therapies, theories, rejecting them as he went.

"They've had her on a... more primitive treatment for the last year," Jocelyn shuddered.

A cold shiver ran up and down Bones's spine, knowing Jocelyn's forthcoming words would sicken both as a parent and a doctor.

"It's a form of targeted che... chemical therapy," Jocelyn continued. "Apparently it's what they used in the 20th and 21st centuries before they had some of the gene therapies worked out and after the Eugenics Wars when all resequencing was banned, but I guess you would know that." Jocelyn sounded weary.

Bones sat there dumbly, staring at the screen, his mind struggling to catch up with the quickly listing, twisted worldview that had just snuck up and consumed his live. "Chemical therapy?" he stammered, "But that will actually make her sick..." Bones shuddered at the thought of reckless doctors pumping poison into his little girl's veins. They taught about twentieth century chemotherapy treatments in his medical history classes; he'd studied all about the _barbarism_ the untargeted therapies, the harm they caused, and the relative _infrequency_ of their success.

"It has!" Jocelyn shot back with frustration Bones knew—for once—wasn't directed at him. "She's been nauseous and tired and lost her hair... and she's been in pain—achy like the flu, but I don't know if that's the Vespasian-Telos or the medication." Jocelyn's expression sobered further, "She was ok, for a while, but now she's just so tired... and the kids at school are teasing her. And her doctor said the drugs are starting to do more harm than good..." Jocelyn's lip quivered, and for a moment, Bones actually thought she was going to break down and start sobbing, but that steely line came back to her jaw, and Jocelyn regained control.

"What, what do you want me to do?" he asked. He already had ideas—theories—about treatments to try, people to contact, ways to help. He could get around the gene therapy restrictions; he could make the Federation government see; he could help Jo and all the other children like her... But only if Jocelyn let him. Bones knew, if Joce wanted to, she could torpedo his career, shame and embarrass him in front of his family and colleagues, _and_ still keep him from seeing Jo. Jo who now might never grow up. _Damnit!_ he cursed inwardly. He couldn't sit idly by while his daughter suffered and maybe died. He'd been traipsing around the galaxy for the last year while she was sick, and he didn't know. Well that stopped now. He'd give Jo her life back—even if it cost him his career and his reputation, if he had to call in every last favor and owe a few more, even if it took him away from the Enterprise and the life and _identity_ he'd built for himself, he had to do it. She was his kid. The best thing Bones—or Leo—had ever done.

"Part of me wants you to stay away, just let us handle this. You're not a part of our lives anymore," Jocelyn admitted, drawing Bones's attention back. "But Jo wants to see you," she sniffed and swatted at a wayward tear, "and I want to make her happy. And maybe... maybe Leonard, you can fix this?"

Bones felt himself shaking with tension, part of him furious she still didn't want him involved, that she'd kept this from him for so long; the rest of him anxious and desperate—needing to get down there so he could see Jo, figure out how to make this right. He'd failed his father. He wasn't going to fail his daughter too.

"I'll come," he whispered. Then, stronger, "I'm coming. I'm going to figure it out right now. Get on the first shuttle down when we reach spacedock tonight. I'll be there. Tell Jo I'll see her soon."

Jocelyn nodded, "O… Okay." She reached forward to turn off the comm.

"Wait," Bones spluttered, "where—where should I meet you?"

"I'll pick you up at the shuttleport in Savannah. Comm me with the details. I—I've got to go. Jo will be home soon and she'll be tired."

The comm clicked off, and Bones was alone. He sat there, stunned, staring blankly at the screen. His heart was racing. He wanted so badly to go to Jim, talk to him, just vent or get some moral support, or maybe advice... But he couldn't. No, they were best friends, but that was all, at least for now. Their relationship hadn't yet moved to the next level. He thought they might soon... that was more or less the unspoken purpose of their upcoming shore leave, their vacation together. Jim cared about him, he knew, and he'd almost definitely be supportive. But while Bones might be able to finagle a way to start his shore leave now, Jim, as captain, definitely could not. Besides, he didn't want to burden Jim, or worse, poke at the still-open wounds of Jim's fatherless, abandoned childhood full of tragedy and illness in its own right.

Bones often felt like his absent fatherhood (his words not Jim's) was the proverbial 'elephant in the living room.' Jim understood why Bones _had_ to leave Savannah. Or at least Bones thought he did. They didn't really talk about it. They talked about everything else—_Leo_ and Jocelyn's relationship, their divorce, David McCoy's death, why Leo felt compelled to make the decisions he had… why _Bones_ couldn't stay there, couldn't keep playing the role of the good, upstanding, Southern son with the wife and child and respectable job, couldn't be Leo anymore and everything that entailed. But Bones still felt like that was an excuse and a pretty weak one at that.

He needed... He needed Jim, but he also needed to do the right thing—help Jo without burdening Jim.

At last, Bones stood with a shaky sigh, his body on autopilot. He wasn't thinking clearly—he couldn't. He needed to gather his files and... and...

Pavel's—Ensign Chekov's—voice (he still hadn't lost his accent and still sounded like a baby) came over the ship-wide comm. "Attention all hands. We've entered the Sol system and are passing Pluto now. The _Enterprise_ will be dropping to impulse shortly. We will be arriving at spacedock in approximately three hours."

Bones started at the sudden noise, the intrusion of sound on his stone silent office. Three hours... He could arrange to be on the first shuttle. The unfinished, half-processed files stared up at him, their respective pads mocking with their incompleteness. "Right," he murmured, his fingers scrabbling over the desk to gather the PADDs into some semblance of order. He could take them, take them with him and finish. As long as he followed Starfleet confidentiality protocols, he could work on them in the shuttle, or in the long hours of waiting that were sure to come. That's how it was when a loved one was sick, dying; hours and hours of silent hoping, dreading, building and building until the unbearable need for it to be over—_somehow_ took over, dominating the mind like an unrepentant sinner.

He had a stack of files in his hands. _Huh._ He didn't realize he'd gathered them all.

One of the PADDs slipped from his hands and landed on the remains of his sandwich. Bones stooped to pick it up, but more PADDs spilled from the stack and tumbled to the floor. _Or I could just leave these here, except for the PADDs with my notes,_ he realized, setting the stack down on his desk and running a trembling hand through his hair. He could access the personnel and medical files through his personal account as long as he was patched through to the _Enterprise's_ computer. Taking a deep breath, he pawed through the array of PADDs until he found the two that held his as-yet un-merged notes and the logs from today's appointments.

He tucked those under his arm, after first brushing off the one covered in bits of chicken salad. _Great_, his travel bag was probably going to reek.

_What now... what now? Think, Bones, think!_ He needed to pack, and arrange to take his leave early, and... and... and let Jim know he probably wouldn't be able to spend shore leave with him. Well, that last one went hand-in-hand with arranging to take his leave early.

He bent forward, swatting again at the controls for the comm, punching in Jim's account.

After a second's delay, Jim's smiling face filled the screen. He was still sitting at his desk in the Captain's ready room. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visual comm, Bones? You can't wait 'til dinner to see me?" he chuckled.

Bones leaned closer, opening his mouth to speak.

Jim's features fell, smile fading and brow furrowing into a mask of concern, his normally youthful appearance seeming to age instantly. "Bones? What's wrong?"

"I…" Bones stammered, unsure of how to begin… "I don't think I'm going to make our dinner tonight."

"What happened? You were fine—everything was okay—when we talked at lunch," Jim added talking half-to himself. He was punching at something off-screen. "But you got a Priority 1 message from Ear—Oh god, something's wrong with Jo!" Jim concluded with startling certainty.

Bones felt the blood draining from his face at hearing Jim proclaim the truth. The reality of Jo's illness had slowly been sinking in, but somehow it hadn't felt _real_ until Jim said it. His legs wobbled, and he almost fell backwards into his chair, but he caught and steadied himself by dropping his hand to the desk, scattering the PADDs further. "Jocelyn called," he managed at last. "She's going to let me see Jo, because Jo asked, but… Jo's really sick."

"I'm so sorry, Bones," Jim whispered, his eyes unfocused and lost somewhere, no doubt in memories of his own troubled childhood. He snapped his attention back to Bones, his face flushed pink, "I mean, I'm not sorry you get to see Jo, but I… I… it shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't be because she's sick. I'm sorry she's sick," he babbled. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"I—" Bones started, "I don't know." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He considered telling Jim more, but decided against it. _Not now._ He'd tell Jim later, when he'd had a chance to actually go over Jo's files himself. Make some calls. "I'm going to do everything I can to help her. I'm _going_ to help her," he said more strongly. His jaw clenched as his thoughts drifted to the last time he'd made that promise to a family member.

"Hey, hey," Jim pleaded, "don't go there. This isn't like it was with your dad. You're a different person now—stronger—so no matter what happens, you're going to be okay." He leaned towards the screen as he spoke, his tone steady and reassuring.

Bones had heard Jim talk to frightened children that way, but he knew Jim's words were meant without any pity or condescension.

Bones could almost feel the warmth and solidity of Jim's touch, as if he'd actually wrapped a friendly arm around Bones. Bones leaned into the screen. "I hope so," he agreed, the lump in his throat seemed to have grown larger making it hard to talk, the words coming out cracked and broken.

"What can I do to help?" Jim asked.

"Contact Starfleet and get me approved to go on leave _now_," Bones answered. "I promised Jocelyn I'd be on the first shuttle out," he explained. "I'm taking paperwork with me—I can finish that; I'm not going to pawn it off on Chapel or M'Benga." He hoped that would make Starfleet happy. He _had_ to go. Jo was more important than everything. If Starfleet didn't like it, well, as much as Bones loved his career, as much as it had become _who he was_ Starfleet could suck on his resignation letter if it came to that.

"It'll be fine, Bones," Jim reassured, his voice ringing true with genuine confidence. "Sick kid, family emergency, and we're already in-system with leave coming—they can't say no. Besides," Jim shrugged with a hint of his usual devious smirk, "You and me, we're heroes; that's got to buy us a little leeway."

"Right," Bones sighed. And for a moment, he almost believed it, loosing himself in the warmth of Jim's eyes. _Everything_ would be alright. Only then reality and all his fears and doubts came crashing back. He wanted Jim with him, here now, to support him, have his back, make everything okay. Just like Jim had been doing every day since they met on a shaky shuttle from Iowa to San Francisco. Jim was his rock. His anchor. A little piece of Earth, of solid ground, by Bones's side even in the empty nothingness of deep space. But Bones needed to solve this. He needed to _be a man_, grow up, stop running, and stand on his own. He couldn't rely on Jim for ever, count on Jim to hold him up at every turn. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to _Jim_ for Bones to keep _taking_ from him; always taking; never giving.

And Jo needed him. Bones had a chance—to save her life and maybe be a good father. He'd run from his past, tried to leave Leo and all his delusions and lies and failings behind. But Bones _was Leo_ (or maybe it was the other way around), and the detritus and wreckage of his past—of Leo's life—was Bones's mess to fix. And—thanks to Jim—he was resilient enough, sure enough, to do it now. He'd stay however long it took to help Jo… make her healthy. And if he couldn't? Then he'd spend as much time with her as she had. Maybe convince Jo her father wasn't such a useless, abandoning, deadbeat after all—lord knew he had no _clue_ (but too many ideas) what Jo must think of him. And if she wound up okay—then he'd have to see how things went with Jocelyn. If she was willing to let him back in Jo's life for the long haul—then maybe he'd just have to stay…

"Bones… Bones!" Jim was calling to him, voice once again filled with concern.

Bones looked back at the screen; smiled as best he could. "Thanks, Jim… thanks for everything. I—I really appreciate it." He could feel the prickle of tears behind his eyes, but he stared ahead unblinking and didn't give in. If he wasn't entirely sure what _everything_ encompassed? Well, he'd keep that his little secret for now.

"Don't mention it. You know I'd do anything for you—whatever you need," Jim replied. His words were familiar, the kind of thing they'd told each other a million times before, but Bones thought Jim's smile looked a little haunted and his tone was a little—off. Like maybe Jim understood something Bones didn't. "You should be packing. We're going to arrive at spacedock soon, and I'll make sure they've got a shuttle waiting for you—where to? You going directly to Georgia?" Jim continued, his tone a little lighter.

Bones blinked. "Yeah, uh, Savannah. Jocelyn's meeting me," he added. Normally he'd shudder at the thought of being in the same _region_ as his ex-wife, but right now his anxiety for Jo overrode even that longstanding dread.

"Good, now go pack!" Jim commanded. He leaned forward. Bones could see Jim's hand moving as if he was going to hit the switch to disconnect the comm, but he hesitated. Lingering, looking, waiting, for more…

"I'm probably not going to be able to spend shore leave with you," Bones added, the thought drifting to him, itching at his chest, the words needing to come out.

"We'll just have to see," Jim answered, lips twitching towards a smile he couldn't quite force. "Got _at least_ two weeks before I'm free—maybe more without you here… but that's not your fault; don't feel bad—it could be longer. Maybe by then you'll have things sorted out? Jo will be better?" he babbled.

Jim's tone was so hopeful and eager; Bones couldn't bring himself to dash his best friend's hopes.

"Maybe," he shrugged, "we'll see. Jo isn't doing too well right now—I—I've got a lot to sort out." He smiled, a real smile, but full of regret. "I would have loved to spend shore leave with you." The happy plans he'd had only—an hour?—ago were already taking the form of wistful, shattered dreams.

"Hey, maybe you still will," Jim added with an encouraging wink. "Now go pack. Comm me when you know more and—" Jim's features sobered, showing real _fear_ for the first time, "Send Jo my love. I hope she's okay. Fly safe."

"I will. Thanks Jim," Bones answered. He tipped his head towards the screen and flipped off the comm.

Suddenly, he was alone. Alone with his thoughts, and he'd just acted like he was saying 'goodbye and have a nice life' to—Jim. How, how could he even dream of functioning in the long term without Jim? What was he thinking? But he had to. The cogs had been clicking into place over the course of the conversation, and Bones was gradually coming to a realization. Jo needed him. _He_ needed to make things right. This was his one—only—chance to try to clean up the mess Leo had made five years ago. He couldn't blow it.

His hands shot up to tug at his hair, the pads he'd tucked under his arm falling to the floor with a muted thud. Another one landed smack, dab in the middle of his scattered sandwich. _Fuck!_

He needed to pack. He needed to clean the mess he'd made in his office—_Fuck it_—he'd leave an apologetic note, and maintenance could clean it up while they were doing… everything else they had to do on the ship. He stopped to pick up the pads he needed and strode from the room, leaving a piece of his heart—_and his sanity_—in his wake.

~~~

Three hours later, the _Enterprise_ was at spacedock, and Bones was on a shuttle—a tin can death trap ferrying him across the black expanse from the ship's familiar white curves through the glowing fire and danger of reentry, and down onto the perversely shimmering blue-green gem that was the Earth. All his belongings—no, not _all_, but everything he needed to survive—were shoved unceremoniously in a ridiculous small shoulder bag. He'd stuffed it full of PADDs holding crew records, medical journals, and his own research. Alongside was his away-mission medkit, a few spare duty uniforms, his dress uniform (who knew if he'd need to go beg from some admiral), and a handful of randomly chosen civvies that probably didn't match. In contrast to the haphazard jumble at the bottom of the bag, on top he'd reverently packed the really important stuff: his framed picture of Jo taken the last Christmas they were a family, his favorite battered copy of Virgil's _Aeneid_ in the original Latin, and a holo of him and Jim taken on the first day of the _Enterprise's_ five-year mission. Jim had scribbled a simple message on the back of the frame—_Bones, I'm with you to the stars and back. Yours, Jim._ It was probably Bones's single most treasured possession, not that he'd ever told Jim that (and not that he would, considering what it would do to Jim's sizeable ego). He was hoping it would fill the aching empty space by his side (in his heart) where Jim should be, but wasn't.

The bag was the one Jim had given him when they'd stopped at New Vulcan for a conference on _transspecies blood pathogen communication and mutation_ last year. He gazed at it fondly while struggling to tamp down the growing nausea. His knees and hands were shaking, breath coming in shallow pants. He hadn't been this sick on a shuttle since that ride to the Academy. He wanted a drink—he _needed_ Jim.

The shuttle bumped and lurched as it entered the atmosphere. Bones gripped the armrests, knuckles turning white, gulping around the sudden flood of saliva in his mouth, trying to breathe through his nose and keep the nausea at bay. Shuttles still freaked him out in a way being on the _Enterprise_ didn't. He was pretty sure some of that had to do with the _Enterprise's_ size and how she'd taken all that damage—holes blown through her, huge chunks of decks just gone—and yet she'd still held together 'floating' in space, and had kept Bones—and Jim—alive despite all odds. By comparison, shuttles were creaky, shaky things, always getting beat up and put through the strain of reentry, and they felt fragile and weak by comparison. There just wasn't as much between him and the void as there was on a Constitution-class Starship. But if Bones was honest with himself, this was worse than any of the shuttle rides he'd taken in the last two years… He felt empty, lonely without Jim by his side for reassurance. It was hard not to think back on that shuttle ride to the Academy. In fact, Bones was pretty sure this was the worst—the sickest, wooziest, most irrationally panicked he'd felt since. Flying away from the _Enterprise_ away from Jim _hurt_. He felt like he'd left something irreplaceable, maybe the best thing he's ever had, an important part of himself, behind. But he didn't really have a choice.

He needed to leave now. Not just because he promised Jocelyn, or because he was desperate to see Jo after so long, but because medically, every day, every _hour_ could mean the difference between saving his daughter's life and watching her slip way, painfully, like his father. Besides, Jim _had_ to spend the next two weeks overseeing repairs and working out crew duty schedules and figuring out the shore leave rotation and filing reports with Starfleet and even probably making a trip out to San Francisco to meet with the brass. Bones would be doing similar duties in sickbay, if not for Joanna's emergency. So there was no way he could take Jim with him this time, no matter how much he felt like he was missing a limb without Jim there.

At least he'd worked out a few more details in the few hours he'd had to pack. He knew M'Benga's was covering all the stuff he hadn't been able to finish (aside from the stack of reports he'd taken with him). Jim had okayed M'Benga filling in since Bones needed to go on emergency family leave, and managed to smooth it over with the Admiralty. It was probably for the best, Bones found himself thinking M'Benga would make a fine CMO. It might take Jim a little while to adjust and Bones might worry constantly about something happening to Jim without him there, but he'd survive. _If it came down to that._ He took pride in the skill of his medical staff, even without him, they were the best and brightest Starfleet had to offer. He wanted to be back on the _Enterprise_ so badly it hurt, yet he also ached for Jo, needed to know his daughter was alive, whole, still here. He needed her to get better.

He'd also managed to fill out an application for Indefinite Personal Leave and left a copy of it in Jim's private inbox. Jim might take it the wrong way, but Bones was trying to do things right, cover his ass, 'cause the truth was he had no idea how long he'd be down in Georgia. He needed to step up and be a good father, be an adult, clean up Leo's mess. He couldn't expect the _Enterprise_ to wait for him if that took longer than the time she'd be in-system. Still, he really did owe Jim an explanation for that. It'd have to be one of those things he covered via comm. Jim would understand. He'd have to. He'd want Bones to be a good father, right?

There was also a box he'd packed up and left in his quarters with instructions to ship to his mother's house on the first available transport. It was filled with a lot more of his stuff than he would take for shore leave, but not everything in his quarters. There wasn't enough time. This way he'd have to go back to the _Enterprise_ even if it was only to collect the rest of his belongings and say 'good-bye.'

The shuttle lurched again. "I may throw up on you," Bones muttered to no one in particular. There were only three other passengers on the shuttle, and none of them were sitting hear him. He chuckled bitterly to himself, torn between memories of that first shuttle ride with Jim, the constant ache of separation from Jim, and the gnawing terror of Jo's illness. He knew each bump and lurch of the shuttle was caused by air pockets of different densities as they entered the atmosphere and hurtled in controlled descent down to the surface. He even knew old-fashioned airplanes—the kind that didn't leave the atmosphere—had dealt with this stuff all the time and, for the most part, been just fine, but to his keyed-up state each and every bump felt like torture, and the next one might promise death.

Bones' nerves settled a little as the shuttle ride smoothed out in as they passed from the thermosphere into the mesosphere, but ratcheted up again as the passed through the bumpy, stratosphere and then troposphere, which were both full of air pockets.

Finally, after both far too long and far too soon, they were coming to a graceful landing. Bones used courtesy as an excuse and waited until the other three passengers had disembarked to exit himself. Truthfully, he was using the extra time to gather his wits about him. By the time they were finally landing at the Savannah space port Bones was green and shaking, and confident he wanted to avoid travel by shuttlecraft ever again if he could manage it.

 

~~~

** Part 2: Revisitations **

He stared out at the alien-ness of what had once been familiar terrain. Spanish moss hung from the trees around the shuttleport as a smattering of palm trees were interspersed among the live oak trees. He could see the air shimmer with heat, moving like molasses, which told him how humid, muggy it was out there. _Shit!_ he really should have worn different clothes. Now he was going to have to contend with nerves and fear and nausea (from being around Joce) and he'd be doing it all with his too heavy, too dark clothes plastered to his back.

The climate, like the scenery and the culture, had once been comfortable and familiar. But after three years dealing with the San Francisco fog and two years in the sterile climate control of the _Enterprise_, he'd de-acclimated.

"Sir?"

The voice broke through the haze in Bones's mind, and he jerked away from the shuttle's window, looking up. A young ensign, a Betazoid woman probably fresh out of the academy, was standing in the aisle looking expectantly at him.

He looked around; the shuttle had emptied while he'd been distracted by the landscape. The other three passengers were now long gone, and he was alone—_so alone._ But he couldn't delay any longer. Reluctantly, he stood, smoothing his blue uniform shirt with one hand as he reached for his bag with the other. He slung it over his shoulder and strode slowly down the aisle with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner.

He stepped out into the scorching sun of a muggy late-May Savannah morning—it was almost noon by the look of the sun. It was completely surreal—pieces of two lives, wholly separate, suddenly mixed up and thrust together—Starfleet and Jim's bag and Georgia and… _Jocelyn_… Bones's eyes fell on her as he scanned the small crowd gathered in the terminal's waiting room closest to the shuttle pad he'd stepped out onto. He had to use one hand to shield his eyes from the sun just to be able to see properly. Had it always been that…glaring?

Bones took another moment to brace himself. Jocelyn looked more harried and exhausted than she had on their subspace conversation earlier that day. Bones glanced at the sun, the shuttleport terminal's giant chrono, and back at Jocelyn. He did the math. If it was 1150 hours local time now, and she'd spoken to him… five or six hours ago? It would have been six or seven in Savannah, and she looked like she'd been up for—

—Jocelyn wasn't sleeping; she hadn't even been going to bed. She _had_ changed though, he realized. She was wearing a lightweight maroon skirt with matching jacket what looked like a black turtleneck underneath—a bit warm for the weather, but then again, Jocelyn was used to it, and she always did have a tendency to get cold easily when she was overtired. Hair was still falling from her up-do, only more strands had broken free now, giving her a harried, disheveled appearance.

Bones steeled himself and finally gathered the resolve he needed to move forward. He crossed the shtuttleport's tarmac without his movement really registering. He'd just stepped inside the sliding doors of the climate-controlled terminal building, when Jocelyn noticed him.

"Hello, Leonard," she said, bitterness breaking through the façade of faux politeness.

"Jocelyn," he nodded, catching a glimpse of the traditional engagement ring displayed on her left hand as she brushed a wayward clump of hair from her face. "I wish the circumstances were different," Bones murmured as he stopped awkwardly in front of her, unsure what greeting protocol to use when meeting one's ex-wife under dire conditions and neither wanted to be on the same planet let alone in the same room.

"I wish this wasn't happening, at all," Jocelyn murmured glancing away.

Bones could see the glint of tears in Joce's eyes, and he hated himself a little for contributing to their presence.

"Hey it's—I'm gonna do everything I can. It will be alright," Bones found himself saying, the words sounding hollow and meaningless to his own ears. He moved towards her to do the gentlemanly thing and offer a hug, or failing that, his hand, but Jocelyn glared at him and pulled away.

"Oh come off it, Leonard. It's not okay. It's not going to _be_ okay, and I certainly don't want your pity or charity!" Her voice rose a little as she spoke—another thing that never would have happened in the old days—Jocelyn was _not_ the kind of person to cause a scene.

Bones noticed a few people glancing their way, saw maybe another two or three do a double-take—whether because they'd heard Jocelyn's almost-outburst or because they thought Bones looked a little familiar, he wasn't sure, but he really didn't want to stick around and find out. "Come on," he said, stepping close to Joce, but not touching her or grabbing her arm to hurry her along, even though he wanted nothing more than to get out of that terminal as quickly as possible.

"Let's get out of here." He spoke out of the corner of his mouth, voice low, as he started towards the street-side door of the waiting room.

Jocelyn didn't follow for a moment, then half-jogged to catch up, her ridiculous traditional high-heeled shoes—completely not ergonomic pain producing things she'd insisted on wearing as long as he'd known her. "When did you decide you cared about appearances?" she muttered, clearly misinterpreting the reason for Bones's speedy exit.

"Where are we going?" he asked instead, not willing to get into an argument with her until they had a little privacy. He had a feeling there was going to be screaming and venting involved, and he would really rather get out of this with a little bit of dignity intact—or rather retain a little bit of the dignity he'd regained since leaving Georgia.

He could feel Jocelyn's disbelieving glare. She didn't say anything for a moment, but as they reached the front of the lobby where they'd either have to turn right to take the lift up to the shuttlecabs or step out the front door to access the wheeled and hover transport, she spoke. "My car's parked with the valet."

Bones nodded, continuing on his path towards the front door and stepping through the swishing transparent doors and onto the sidewalk. The air was _sweltering_, oppressive. Even hotter than it had been on the walk from the shuttle to the terminal building, if that was possible. He could feel sweat beading on his brow and dripping down his face, rolling down his neck and into his collar. The specially designed fabric used in Starfleet uniforms—at least the regular duty uniforms—was supposed to have almost magical properties. It could keep you warm in the cold, help you dry out in the rain, keep cool in a heat wave, and retain moisture in the desert. But even the high tech material wasn't a match for late May in Georgia.

Jocelyn walked over to the valet booth, handed the attendant her key, and they waited at the curb until the valet driver returned with a spring-green hovercar—new, but not brand new. Jocelyn hadn't owned it when Bones had last spoken to her, but then again, it had been five years. A lot had changed in five years. He was a different person, so why shouldn't she be? She walked around to the rear of the car, and popped the trunk open, allowing Bones to carefully place his bag inside.

He didn't really want to part from it, even momentarily. It, and its contents, were his only tangible connections to Jim at the moment. Well… he had his communicator, and he could make the right calls and get routed up to the _Enterprise_, but that was more trouble than it was worth while he was supposed to be on leave. Reluctantly, he let the bag go, flinching a little as Jocelyn closed the trunk over it.

He hesitated, looking around, trying to make sense of the situation. It was a bustling busy day… a Tuesday he thought the chrono outside the terminal building had said. Noon, lunch time. Hundreds of people—mostly human—were scurrying about their daily business. The sidewalk outside the shuttleport was a bustling mass of cabs and bikes and cars pulling up and letting out and taking on passengers. Across the street was a spiraling tall parking structure and vehicles of all descriptions were coming and going in a sort of frenetic, yet controlled chaos. He could smell peaches and the aroma of slightly sun-burnt cut grass drifting on the breeze along with the wafting aroma of at least a dozen different types of cuisine spilling forth from the restaurants all around. Yet true to the old stereotype of Southern Life, everyone was just a little more relaxed, and moving a little more slowly than they might in other places on Earth or in the Federation. It used to feel comfortable to Bones, now it just felt wrong. He didn't belong here. He was used to the order and rhythm of the artificial day-night cycles of a starship, the pace of life in Starfleet—periods of monotonous routine punctuated by panicked flurries of activity.

Jocelyn was staring at him. Oh, and they were probably blocking the valet space, and he needed to go see Jo, and… "Do you want me to drive?" he asked.

She scoffed.

_Jocelyn actually scoffed!_

"When was the last time you drove something that wasn't a Starfleet shuttlecraft? Before you left Savannah?" she asked.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Just get in," she commanded, shaking her head, as the driver's side door slid up with a swoosh.

Bones did as he was told, settling into the passenger seat and gripping the dashboard in front of him as the door closed, latching with a subtle click. It had been a long time since he'd ridden in something this close to the ground.

"I do _not_ understand you, Leo. You storm out of here. Make a mess of our lives. Ruining your family's good name, bringing _shame_ on me. And now, you come back and suddenly you want to stand on ceremony, and you're worried about avoiding a scene, and you're all… chivalrous?"

"That's not what—" he started.

"Did you get tired of men opening doors for _you_ Leo?" she shot back bitterly.

Bones jerked in his seat as if burned, turning so his back rested against the cushioned inside of the door (and pulling himself as physically far way from Jocelyn as he possibly could), he glared at her. That was way below the belt. She'd… she hadn't said something that—direct—to him since the night she found out. No, it was all just shove it under the rug, pretend it didn't exist. Use euphemisms and talk about how Leo was destroying her life.

It hadn't been this bad on subspace. He'd hoped—he'd hoped that maybe with Jo's illness and five years of non-contact between them the wound he'd left in Jocelyn's soul would have healed a little. But it was pretty clear sharing the same general physical space, was tearing apart all their old scars.

"What _was_ that back there at the terminal? After the stunts you pulled, suddenly you're against airing our dirty laundry again?" she asked, keeping here eyes fixed steadfastly on the road. She'd started the car. They were moving now. Moving…

And Bones felt spacesick, even though he was on good ol' terra firma.

"I know how much _you_ care about keeping private things private," he responded coldly, using one of Jocelyn's favorite turns of phrase. He glanced ahead at the road, and back at Jocelyn, her insult still stinging too badly for him to turn his back to his seat. "But in case you didn't notice, people tend to know who I am. I saw someone… recognize me. We don't need their questions. Jo doesn't need…"

"Sorry," Jocelyn admitted with a shaking sigh. Her hands were trembling at the controls, the manicure more chipped than it had been on the holocall, and one of her nails was torn and ragged, like she'd been biting them. "It's just… Jo and I, we had a good thing going here. You were out of our lives, and we were happy—I was happy. I thought Jo was happy. It was for the best," she sniffed. "It was all for the best and then… She got sick, and… Now you're back."

"Joce, I'm here for _Jo_, not to fight with you," Bones reiterated. "I didn't want to intrude on your lives. When you won custody, I promised I'd stay away, and I did. But I need to see her—" his voice cracked, tears springing to his eyes. He let himself slump back into the seat so he had his hands free to wipe his eyes and didn't need to brace himself.

"Well, thank you for coming. It means a lot to her," Jocelyn said, voice flat. There was silence. Nothing but the hum of the car beneath them, the faint swish of the air moving around the vehicle. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Why wouldn't I?" Bones asked, trying to keep his temper down. Jocelyn had a lot of—ideas about him. He knew that. Not all of them were right. He _hadn't_ understood that when he'd left. He'd pretty much bought and believed every single last name, slur, and insult she'd thrown at him. It was only with time, perspective, and Jim's help, that he'd finally begun to understand she was wrong about him. He wasn't a monster who hated his daughter or betrayed his father or set out to tarnish his family's name. He was an adulterer… but not because he didn't care about the sanctity of marriage, but because he'd gotten himself into a marriage that never should have existed, and tried to hard to stay too long… He'd made mistakes. Lots, and lots of mistakes, but he wasn't uncaring, and he _had_ learned, and grown, into a better man.

"Because you always put your… your selfish—_urges_—before your duty as a father and husband!" she shouted, slapping a trembling hand over her mouth in surprise at her own exclamation.

"Jocelyn," Bones cleared his throat. When he continued, his voice was frank, assertive, calm—the voice he'd cultured over five years of dealing with overstressed, overwhelmed medical cadets and officers in countless crisis situations, real and simulated. "I _never_ put anything above Joanna, except for the one time I missed her soccer final, and that was because I'd just said 'yes' when my father asked me to help him die. I was a mess, and I couldn't pretend any longer, couldn't deny… deny that I'm _gay_, and I just needed someone to make me _feel_." Tears were flowing down his cheeks now. They'd never talked about this. He wanted Jim. Jim was the one person who'd just accepted him and spent his time trying to get Bones to accept _himself_ rather than getting him to change. He shuddered, breath hitching, "But Jocelyn, I _always_ put Jo first. That was the reason I _told_ you. Because I couldn't face lying to her. That's why I left. Why I—" he gulped. "Why I didn't fight harder."

Jocelyn jerked the car to a stop. They were pulled over, in a tiny space in one of the narrow streets of Savannah's historic district, even after hundreds of years it still bore cobble stone paving and allowed ground traffic in only one direction, just like it had for hundreds of. Tall stone and brick buildings with elaborate, filigreed wrought-iron gates and sweeping staircases lined both sides of the street, while ancient live oaks created shade up overhead. Bones knew, because he knew where they were. Remembered this place about three blocks from their old house, but Jocelyn wasn't interested in the scenery, she was shaking, skewering him with her gaze. "Why you didn't fight?" she asked, uncomprehending, voice wavering.

"I… I thought it was best for Joanna. For a while, I really believed she couldn't forgive me for hurting you, even if she was only six. I thought she'd be better off with no father, or a stepfather, than a gay father, so I—" He'd never admitted this out loud. "You threatened to turn me in to the medical board, make sure they knew I'd helped my father die, and hadn't followed the right protocols. You said you'd drag my name through the mud and make sure everyone knew what a selfish, heartless monster I was… If I contested custody. I convinced myself it was for the best. Figured I'd already lost Jo, and the only thing I had left was medicine. But… I would have given it all up for her if I'd realized then what I know now. I'm not a bad man, or an evil man," he shook his head. "I just cared so much to make my family happy, I tried to be someone I wasn't, and I screwed up."

"What about me, Leo, did you ever love me? How could you, _do_ that? How could you _cheat_ on me with some man you barely knew?" Jocelyn was crying openly now, her voice hoarse and froglike.

"I loved you, Joce, I've always loved you. Cared about you. Tried to convince myself I was _in love with_ you, but I was really in love with the _idea_ of being a proper son to do my family proud. I should have told you, but I was scared, and for a long time, I was convinced, I could be someone I'm not. And I'm sorry. But I _love_ Jo with all my heart. She's the best thing I've ever done, and I will never regret that." He let the words hang in the air, composing himself. It was done. Said. The confrontation he'd been dreading for five years, but hoping would never come. He felt—relieved.

"She's dying, Leo," Jocelyn sniffed, wiping her eyes.

"Bones," he whispered.

"What?" Jocelyn asked, hands frozen half way towards her making another swipe at her damp cheeks.

"I don't go by Leo anymore," Bones answered, "haven't since I got to Starfleet," he murmured. "My name is Bones." He shrugged. "And Jo isn't dying, not if I can do anything about it."

"Bones?" The name sounded funny coming in her voice, but it was actually a lot less—unsettling—than hearing her call him someone he wasn't. "You know, she isn't David—she's not your father—I won't. I'm not going through that."

"I know," Bones said, feeling confidence fill him, just an inkling that had started to creep in when she'd called him 'Bones,' "She's not Dad, and I'm not Leo. And I've learned a lot since then."

Jocelyn regarded him in shock for a few moments, as if she thought maybe he'd lost his mind, but finally, she nodded, and pulled back into traffic. They drove the last three blocks to Jocelyn's house in silence.

He still hadn't asked her about the ring. He realized he wasn't going to. It would either come up, or it wouldn't. Jocelyn wasn't his, and as long as Jo was okay, it wasn't his business, either.

~~~

Bones followed Jocelyn up the steps to the second-story entrance of her—what used to be their home. He wondered how he'd ever liked it there because once upon a time he was very content and proud to call it his home: an old, proud, historical brick Savannah town house with four stories and armfuls of formality and _character_. He was the one who'd originally picked it out. Nowadays, open spaces, horses, and relative peace and tranquility were the positives he associated with Georgia… none of which were to be found here. There was a small courtyard garden in back, surrounded on all sides by the brick walls of townhouses, and overlooked by a spacious balcony deck complete with a fancy, filigreed spiral staircase, but even back there the noise and tempo of the city seemed to close in on all sides. Once upon a time, though, it had been part of a grand dream.

Jocelyn let them inside, and Bones was struck with the familiarity of the space. There were so many memories associated with it… He'd found the house at the tender age of twenty-one, while Joce was pregnant with Joanna. They'd bought it right away, even though Bones was still in med school in Mississippi and Jocelyn was still finishing her doctorate in Twentieth Century Earth History. He remembered Joanna's first Christmas, and the med school graduation the McCoys had thrown for him here. He could almost see the smiling faces from his past and yet… yet it seemed so distant and cold. Had he really been that person? "We _were_ happy once," Bones murmured as Jocelyn brushed by him, crossing the foyer and striding off towards the kitchen, which was at the back of the house overlooking the garden.

He stood there, frozen to the spot, unsure what to do. It was like he was a trespasser in his old life. Should he follow Jocelyn?

Luckily, she returned only moments later, carrying a pitcher of sweet tea and two glasses on a tray. "Jo's at school; thought you might want to read her medical file, while we wait for her to get back."

Bones noticed how—composed—Jocelyn seemed compared to a few minutes ago. It wasn't put-on either. Her hands were steady supporting the tray, and the bitterness was gone from her voice. He felt like he'd passed a test. Or maybe successfully apologized for spectacularly failing a test in the distant past.

"Okay," he agreed, following as Jocelyn led him from the foyer into the formal living room. It was—more lived in, than when he'd last seen it. In the old days, they'd kept everything super neat and tidy, never allowing a cushion or knickknack out of place. Jocelyn believed cleanliness and order showed respectability and responsibility to the outside world. Bones—Leo—had felt like keeping a 'perfect' home was one thing he could actually achieve, one thing he could control.

He hadn't been able to tell through his tiny glimpse the subspace transmission had provided, but by contrast, the room now looked comfortable. The furniture was still all of Terran origin, but some of the stiffer plantation-style pieces had been replaced with more contemporary furnishings like couches covered with temperature-regulating fabric and ergonomic gel foam—or at least that's what it felt like as he ran a hand over it.

There were also a few throw pillows on the floor and an old chenille throw blanket was gathered in the crease of a gel foam chaise lounge. Discarded hypo vials littered the side table and floor next to the lounge, while a stack of PADDs was scattered around the comm terminal.

He was standing, staring, taking it all in, processing the changes, but a quick glance to Jocelyn, who had just set down the tray on an ottoman that stood in front of the couches and one arm chair, made it clear she had misinterpreted his behavior as disapproving shock. "I like it," he explained. "The place feels more… real."

"Well, it's certainly more comfortable for Jo this way," Jocelyn admitted. "Although she insisted on keeping that antique end table," she gestured towards the spindly mahogany table on which the empty vials lay, whose sharp corners stood in stark contrast to the curves gracing the rest of the furniture in the room. "She said it reminds her of you."

Bones heart clenched, but he managed a nod and a melancholy smile, as he plunked himself down in the arm chair. He reached out, took a sip of the tea, and said "Thanks." _Wow!_ It really was excellent sweet tea, homemade, not produced by a food synthesizer. Cool and refreshing and a bit nostalgic; he hadn't had it in years. But back when they were a family, it had been his drink of choice. He'd like to say he'd given it up for its unhealthy sugar content, but the truth was, its flavor held too many memories and it wasn't strong enough to dull the pain. So he'd replaced it with even-less-healthful glasses of bourbon.

He looked up to thank Joce again, only to find she'd gone. He glanced around, craning his neck to check back towards the foyer, but he didn't see her. A moment later, she reappeared, descending the stairs from the third floor, and carrying a PADD.

"This is linked to all of Joanna's medical records," she explained, holding the PADD out for Bones to take.

He rose enough to grab it and sat back down, thumbing the interface to life.

"I had her doctors give you full access."

"Thank you," Bones murmured appreciatively.

Jocelyn fidgeted, "I—the study on the third floor is mostly storage now, and… this is Jo's favorite room—" she glanced towards the chaise lounge with its resident blanket.

"This is fine, Jocelyn," he reassured. And it was. He set the PADD down on the ottoman and turned to open his bag, which had been hanging half-forgotten on his shoulder since he'd retrieved it from Jocelyn's trunk as they arrived. "I brought my own files, research, journals," he said as he pawed through the bag's contents, producing the PADDs and a few paper items. The papers were articles his Vulcan colleagues had shared at that conference he attended last year. If he recalled correctly, the New Vulcan Science Academy was encouraging the publication of paper journals because the paper's tactile sensory input helping in the retention of emotional control after the 'trauma of displacement' while simultaneously providing continuity of Vulcan heritage and culture through a connection to 'traditional Vulcan written forms'. His fingers handled the papers reverently, as if respecting them might transfer some wisdom and self control to their possessor.

"Oh, of course," Jocelyn said, stooping to push the ottoman a little closer to the chair, to give Bones more room to spread out his research. "I'm going to go…" Jocelyn started, sounding a little lost, like she didn't know what to do with herself, like she'd been running so hard and so long, the concept of a moment's free time to herself was alien.

Bones looked up from the research to see her still standing there, as if she was waiting for a sign or _permission_ maybe that it was okay to go. "Why don't you take a nap?" Bones suggested, doing his best to keep any hint of curmudgeonly doctor out of his voice. Right now, talking to Jocelyn reminded him a little bit of talking to a spooked horse or… or…

_Or talking to Jim, when he's having a flashback about Frank or Tarsus IV or when he forgets to eat or when he's in the middle of an allergic reaction but dreading the treatment._

It had been two minutes since he'd last thought of Jim, a detached voice in the back of his mind told him, and the realization that Jim wasn't _right there_ to lean on hit him anew. He could feel the growing tide of loneliness and overwhelmed concern start to build up inside, threatening to spill over, have _him_ shaking again like he was on the shuttle ride. He struggled to retain composure, not wanting to have to explain _Jim_ to Jocelyn, not so soon after they'd… cleared the air.

But luckily, Jocelyn didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she chose not to question Bones about his sudden change of expression. Instead, she smiled, a bright, genuine, relieved smile that stretched all the way to her eyes, her features instantly looking younger, softer. "I think I just might do that, Le—Bones," she corrected herself.

Bones smiled graciously.

Joce glanced at the chrono. "Jo will be home in about three hours," her smile faltered, "um, Clay… Clay's been picking her up at school and taking her home. She's too sick to take a shuttle, and she likes him, enjoys his company." She glanced away, biting her lip.

_Ah, well that explains the ring_, Bones realized. He swallowed, "So, so you and Clay are engaged?" he asked, nodding towards Jocelyn's ring. "Good, he cares about you. Always cared about you. He's a good man," he added hastily, wanting to make it clear he _didn't_ blame Jocelyn for finding happiness. Hell, if he hadn't been so dead set on trying to fill an imagined ideal, if he hadn't thrown himself at women in general (and Jocelyn in particular), Clay Treadway probably would be Joanna's father, and well, she'd be a different person, but she wouldn't have inherited Bones's problematic genes and she would have a real dad rather than an absent father who was gay and was off flying around the galaxy on a starship. But that wasn't what had happened, and Jo, _was_ his, with his bad genes, and if Jocelyn and Clay were together and happy, well, then maybe that was one more good thing that could come of this.

"Tha—ank you," Jocelyn whispered, voice catching a little. "I thought you still hated him for…"

"For loving you when I couldn't? For supporting you when I made a mess?" Bones supplied, shaking his head. "I was just jealous he was actually the kind of guy who could really _have_ what I had only dreamed of, and I was angry with myself for failing, because I didn't want someone else to take my place in Jo's life, even if I did think it was for the best for me to… stay away," he explained.

"Well," Jocelyn sniffed, dabbing at her cheeks again with the back of her hand before crossing her arms and striking a pose somewhere between contemplative and defensive. "We got engaged just before Jo was diagnosed. We put everything on hold, then she was doing better for a while, we thought about trying to plan a wedding," Jocelyn looked him straight in the eye, "And you know my parents would never approve to anything less than full church wedding with a huge reception and everyone invited."

Bones nodded. Yeah, that sounded like Jocelyn's family alright, appearances and propriety before practicality or individual wishes.

"But then Jo got sicker and now… we're sort of in a holding pattern. Clay's been very supportive of me, of Jo, but _I_— I don't have energy to spend on our relationship right now. I've just been focusing on Joanna, taking her to appointments, helping her through the side effects. I took a sabbatical from the museum." Jocelyn looked up nervously as if she expected Bones to disapprove. Jocelyn had always prided herself in her work. It was a _monumental_ step for her to take time away from it.

"You're taking care of Jo. You've been here for her when I wasn't," Bones offered. He looked up meeting her eyes. "Joce, you did the right thing."

She sighed, "It's just been hard, and… I haven't had anyone to share it with. I couldn't bring myself to burden Clay. So, thank you, for coming. I think I'm going to go take that nap now."

Bones nodded and watched as Jocelyn turned and walked away. He took another sip of tea and turned his attention back to the PADD. Jocelyn wasn't kidding—_everything_ was there, including the records from Jo's original gene therapy treatment and other childhood screenings, all arranged into neat folders organized by doctor and year. The sheer number of folders from the last two calendar years was sobering—she was seeing at least a dozen doctors, sometimes taking shuttles as far away as New York for treatments and appointments.

He gave in to the urge to see her current files, and immediately wished he hadn't as the information about her current treatments, condition, and prognosis left him so nauseated, he nearly had to run from the room to vomit. The drugs they were pumping into her body were killing her. The disease was killing her—destroying her immune system in the process and making her susceptible to all sorts of other opportunistic infections that could also kill her. Yet still, somehow, Joanna was alive.

He could feel the tremors welling up inside him again. He was so… scared, and so very, very angry—at modern medicine for failing Joanna with the first intervention, at the Federation for their overly restrictive policies on genetic resequencing and manipulation, at himself for not being there for Jo when she needed him. He was mad at the treatments that were supposed to be prolonging her life, but were doing almost as much harm as the disease itself. He gripped the PADD so tightly it creaked, threatening to snap under the strain. He willed himself to calm, breathe, relax…

Freaking out wasn't going to help anyone. If Jim... if Jim were here he'd tell Bones he was the best. Remind him he could work the impossible. He was brilliant, innovative, and resourceful, and if he had faith in himself, focused on what he _had to do_ rather than panicking about what could go wrong, he'd succeed. With his temporary panic abated, he began a slow, steady crawl through Jo's files, starting with her prenatal screenings and working up to the present. He was able to stay mostly detached, asking himself how he would approach the situation if Jo were any other patient, cultivating the mindset he used treating fellow crewmembers on the _Enterprise_.

That was it, what was probably the biggest difference between _Bones_ as a doctor and Leo as a doctor. Starfleet had trained him how to approach treating people he knew—friends, colleagues, Jim—on a regular basis. How to maintain professional objectivity and clear-headedness in situations where clinical detachment was both inadvisable and impossible. In civilian life, unless one was working as a doctor in a very small community or their home base experienced a catastrophe of the greatest magnitude, one would rarely treat one's close friends or family or others with whom one had emotional entanglements. In fact, doctors were actively encouraged _not_ to treat family and friends, because doing so strained the relationship of affinity or kinship while the doctor's professional judgment was impaired.

Only, a Starfleet doctor, especially one serving on a starship or starbase where the same, relatively small group of people formed a crew that was both isolated from regular outside contact and kept in close quarters together, didn't have the luxury of not treating friends and family. This was even more true for the Chief Medical Officer. One of the job requirements for a CMO was establishing trust and respect both among a ship's medical staff and between the CMO and the crew. As the only officer with the ability to overrule the Captain (or even remove the Captain from duty), it was imperative that the CMO have a good rapport with the entire crew. As a member of the senior staff, the CMO also knew and worked closely with the ship's other senior officers—the people (well aside from green Ensigns and Lieutenants in the security specialty) most likely to be injured or become ill due to their participation in away missions, interaction with alien dignitaries, strange new life forms and the like. So, a CMO had to learn to balance that friendship/kinship/close working relationship/rapport with professional objectivity. Bones had learned how to funnel the desperation and anxiety that accompanied an injured loved one and funnel it into his professional determination and focus. It was a skill Leo had simply never learned, nor had any need to.

And maybe that was why Leo had failed.

Bones looked up, eyes bleary with continued focus on the PADD. He checked the chrono on Jocelyn's living room wall. It was the one his parents had given them for their wedding, styled to look like a Nineteenth Century Terran mantle clock. Fifteen hundred hours… Jo would be home in about a half hour or so. He'd been so focused he'd poured over her entire medical file in just over two hours.

He'd been _relieved_ when Jocelyn had demanded she keep the clock. It… reminded him too much of David McCoy. His father. His hero. And he'd never lived long enough to meet the man his son became. David was… Leo's biggest failure. He should never have _tried_ to help. Never have even attempted to get involved in his father's case back then. He could see that now. Only… Only how could he _not_?

Bones let himself slide down in the chair, dropping the PADD to rest on the ottoman as he propped his feet up along side it, giving in to the inevitable tug of memories.

David was a doctor; Leo had gone to med school, in part, to follow in his father's footsteps. David had also been very healthy. So healthy, in fact, Leo had totally and completely taken his father's presence and well-being for granted. Until, suddenly, David was diagnosed with pyrrhoneuritis, a fatal disease for which there was no cure. Pyrrhoneuritis often took years to progress, but David McCoy wasn't so lucky. It was as if the disease was consciously mocking his health. Inside a year, he'd deteriorated to the point of being bedridden. He was in constant, agonizing pain, existing in misery.

_Enter Leonard Horatio McCoy,_ he thought sarcastically. He'd been a bit shy of twenty-seven, had already been practicing medicine for almost five years, and was a well-respected, 'rising star in the medical community. When his father had become ill, it seemed natural that Leo would take it upon himself to find a cure. However, on the inside, Leo had felt it was his absolute obligation as a _good_, loyal son to save the man after whom he'd modeled his life. It didn't help that at the same time Leo's carefully constructed, painstakingly maintained life was crumbling. The meticulously constructed persona of a straight man, loyal husband, and doting father was falling apart.

Before David got sick, Joce had been well, for lack of a better term, _pestering_ Leo about having another baby. Leo adored Jo. She was the center of his world. He came home to her every day after a long shift at the hospital and spent time with her. He tried to be there for everything—from her first steps to her first day of pre-school, to her first school play. But Joce, well… The novelty and thrill of success he'd had when he'd realized he _did_ have some attraction to women, or at least _a_ woman, and that an exceptionally desirous, proper woman was attracted to him had worn off. So, he stalled. Claimed work kept him too busy. She tried to get him to change jobs, maybe go join his dad in the family practice, just so he'd have more time…

But then, well… David's illness was the perfect excuse to work more. But as day after day and week after week, month after month spent working, studying, researching, turned up nothing useful he started to despair. His dad was so sick, but he _had_ to find a cure. It had to be him. If he was really such a hot-shot awesome doctor, like everyone seemed to think he was, then he _had_ to be able to do it. So he'd started drinking as a way to self medicate.

He'd still made time for Jo, but he started neglecting Joce more and more. As if the situation wasn't already stressful enough, his relationship with Jocelyn already taxed and strained, she understandably began to feel truly left out and abandoned, and she didn't get why. And it wasn't like he could tell her. Well, she understood that he wanted to save his father's life, but she didn't understand why that was so important to him. Leo'd had an almost pathological need to _make things right, live up to expectations_, even if they were ridiculous expectations he layered on himself. It was his way of trying to atone, to be _better_, more worthy. If he couldn't be straight, then he'd damn well be the most perfect son out there. And that meant saving his father. But he couldn't explain that. _Oh no ho._ Because Jocelyn didn't know…

Where Bones's—Leo's—family was just good, old-fashioned proper, Jocelyn's was actually from a traditionally religious family that belonged to one of the fire-and-brimstone kinds of churches that still studded the 'Old South' even almost two hundred years after first contact with the Vulcans had shown Terrans the universe was a bit different than previously thought. So with Leo unable to explain himself, and Joce probably already feeling a bit burned by his prior stalling tactics, she started pushing.

At first Jocelyn tried to be supportive and helpful, but every time she pushed, tried to come up with ways for them to spend more time together, he pulled away. As she felt more and more hurt, she pushed harder. That was when Leo began to feel trapped. Overwhelmed. Cornered. He needed an outlet, any outlet…

He started by sneaking off to gay bars, or at least bars that weren't so straight-laced. He didn't do anything, just talked, at first. He'd let guys flirt with him, while he drowned his sorrows in some good Kentucky Bourbon. After a while his eye started to wander. It had been well… over a year at that point since he and Jocelyn had fucked or been intimate in any way, and he was starting to long for companionship, touch, release. But he just looked. Didn't touch. He still wanted to be that perfect son.

Until his father's condition became critical. David was in agonizing pain. Leo's life descended into an endless cycle of working and studying—an increasingly desperate struggle to find _something_ to help. To buy his dad more time. To ease the pain. To improve his quality of life. To give hope…

He knew even then there were other doctors and researchers working for a cure, but it looked like his father's time had simply run out. He worked harder. Eventually he resorted to begging his dad to hold on, just a little longer.

David asked him 'please?'

Leo didn't want to do that.

But David was in so much pain. It hurt Leo, broke his soul to see his father in that kind of agony. How could he force him to stay there? How could he ask his dad to wait for a cure that might never come? The Federation had laws that applied in that sort of situation… Precautions to make sure the person who wanted help dying really was terminally ill and really was making the choice of their own volition without pressure or influence from outside sources. But it was still such a moral grey area, and Leo wasn't really sure how he felt. And following the procedures would mean filling out forms, going public, airing the family's dirty laundry and exposing them all to a whole bunch of criticism. Criticism from folks like Joce and her family. It would be scandalous.

He struggled. But David kept asking and eventually the agony of seeing his father in that much pain got to him, and he said _yes_. He gave his father the drugs he needed. But he did it under the table, without going through proper channels.

After his father had died, peacefully, thanking him, Leo fell apart. He found comfort first at the bottom of a bottle and then in the arms of another man. It was just sex, but it felt like release, giving in, letting go, allowing himself to be _himself_—flawed and imperfect—for the first time, at least in his adult life. He cheated on Jocelyn.

Things might never have changed though, if he hadn't emerged from his lost weekend to realize he'd also missed Jo's soccer final. Like he'd reminded Jocelyn, it was the first time he'd ever missed out on an important event in Jo's life—not counting the one time he was caught in a twelve-hour emergency surgery and missed the first half of her preschool graduation. But that was different. This… he felt guilt, shame, disgust with himself for letting her down.

So, Leo went home ashamed and worried and distraught. Jo missed him. Jocelyn just looked cold, her eyes holding a glare that said she'd just been waiting for him to start disappointing Joanna. He'd been so overcome with the enormity of what had happened hat he confessed to everything.

Even now, years later, the sound of Jocelyn slapping him in the face, _crying_ in front of him—in front of Jo—the look of shock on her face, were so ingrained in his memory, he could pretty much play the recollection back like a holovid. Fast forwarding and rewinding and pausing through his worst memory. As if talking about sleeping with a man wasn't enough, he'd gone on to explain exactly what happened with his father. To say Jocelyn had a major problem with it would have been an extraordinary understatement. And then there was the whole betrayal issue—him not telling her he was gay, cheating, ruining their dream. She'd said she realized her entire life was a thinly veiled lie. And that's when things had gotten nasty between them.

Jocelyn lashed out and kicked Leo out, which he'd expected. What Jocelyn did next left him shocked and reeling. Jocelyn set out to do everything in her power to keep him away from Joanna. She said it was to protect Jo from his _unhealthy, deviant, and immoral influence_. She managed to find a lawyer, and a judge, who put stock in more "traditional" values and also saw Leo's behavior as grossly irresponsible. Then, she'd threatened to reveal Leo's role in his father's death to the medical board. If he tried to fight her, to get to stay in Joanna's life, she'd make sure he lost his license or worse—ensure he faced criminal charges and a stint in a Federation penal colony.

Leo had been so overcome with grief and self-loathing, especially after doctors discovered a cure for pyrrhoneuritis just two _months_ after David had died… after _he'd killed_ his father that he let his guilt, shame, and feelings of inadequacy consume him. His self-loathing certainly didn't help, and since he'd let Jo down, he wasn't so sure he _wasn't_ a destructive influence on her. But when it came down to it, he was screwed either way. If Joce did what she said she'd do, he'd lose Jo even if he fought for her. He would have lost his license, and then his freedom, and then his daughter… and he would have brought shame and scandal and humiliation to his good, upstanding, respectable family. And there was no way in hell that any judge that would have heard the case would have given custody to a cheating gay drunk who'd been convicted of patricide.

Leo gave in. Jocelyn kept Jo and most of the property, and Leo fled Georgia. Eventually wound up on a shuttle in Iowa to enlist in Starfleet. It had been a tragedy at the time, but without it, he never would have met Jim, never would have found himself, become Bones. But it had still been a very, very long time since he'd seen Joanna…

 

~~~

** Part 3: Reunions **

"Dad… daddy?"

A familiar voice pulled Bones back to consciousness. He hadn't realized it, but somewhere in his reflections about David's death and losing Jo he must have fallen asleep. He hadn't heard the door open or approaching footsteps or anything.

Bones looked up, startled, to see Jo smiling back at him. "Jo?" he asked, voice wavering with emotion and near disbelief. It had been five years. Five very long, eventful years since he'd last seen her. That was almost half her lifetime. She'd grown, grown so much. She was tall, over five feet already, and her figure was no longer that of a little girl, she wasn't yet mature, but the signs of puberty were definitely there... Puberty, he recalled, had signed her death warrant, and unless he came up with a solution—because it was clear none of the doctors she was currently seeing were getting anywhere—growing up was going to kill her. She looked better than he feared... her cheeks were a little puffy and her hair was gone—a silk scarf was wrapped around her head instead—and she looked thin and frail, but she was still obviously his Jo. "God I've —missed you, honey, come here!" He stood, holding his arms wide and welcoming her to him.

Jo hesitated at first, but then stepped close, wrapping herself tight around Bones's waist. "I missed you daddy. So glad you're here," she sighed.

"I can't believe I missed so much," he murmured, leaning over and kissing the top of her head. He could feel how warm she was, probably a little over 37 degrees, and she felt almost fragile to the touch, like she'd grown big and then been hollowed out from the inside, slowly shrinking and collapsing in on herself. Her scarf smelled familiar though... like... the sandalwood soap he used when he lived here. _Is she using it because it reminds her of me?_ he wondered. "I'm going to be around now, I'll stay… sorry I missed so much," he murmured aloud.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. She looked—upset? Maybe worried or concerned or disappointed? It wasn't clear, and the expression didn't linger, it was transient, flashing over her features and clearing into a smile. _Doesn't she want me here?_ he wondered, but no, she'd just said how happy she was he'd come... he'd just have to worry about it later. Maybe she just wasn't feeling well; it could be a momentary flash of pain.

"Where's Mom?" Jo asked tired eyes flitting around the room, as if genuinely surprised her mother wasn't there.

"I think she went upstairs to take a nap," Bones answered, uncertainty creeping into his voice. He hadn't seen Jocelyn since she'd gone upstairs about three and a half hours ago, but then again, he'd dosed off.

Jo looked over Bones's shoulder, and for the first time he was aware of someone else in the room. He stepped back, turning, and saw a tall, attractive man leaning against the molding framing the entryway between the living room and dining room. Clay Treadway. A little older, a little more world weary, but still the same guy he and Jocelyn had known since high school. "Hi Clay," he acknowledged.

"Leo," Clay answered with a nod.

"Actually, I go by Bones, now," he clarified.

Clay raised an eyebrow. "Bones?" He straightened up and pulled himself away from the wall.

"Yeah," Bones reached up and scratched the back of his neck. "It's ah, something, I said and a pun and, Jim came up with it and it kind of stuck." He shrugged. "I like it. It fits me."

"Jim, is he…" Clay started, trailing off.

Bones could understand the unstated question, plain as day. _Is he your partner?_ There was no heat or judgment behind it though, and for that he was grateful. Clay really wasn't a bad guy. Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, Leo had felt the need to woo Jocelyn away from Clay, show her how impressive he was. But, that had more to do with Leo's need to prove to himself that he could attract a desirable woman, someone who would make a good, respectable wife, and help him to fulfill his family's expectations.

"Uhh… that. It's complicated," Bones admitted with a sigh.

"Jim?" Jo asked, echoing Clay.

Bones turned back towards his daughter; she'd crossed her arms in front of her, her stance both contemplative and amused—it reminded a bit of himself, and a lot of Jim, actually. He wondered what she was asking exactly, if maybe she'd seen newsvids of Jim and the rest of the _Enterprise_ crew?

"Is Jim, Captain James T. Kirk? Captain _Kirk_ gave you a nickname and you're Bones now?" Jo asked.

"Uh, yeah," Bones answered stuttering so much he felt more like Jim when he got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to and had to back pedal frantically to get on even ground. Jim was smoother about it though. "Jim is Captain Kirk. And he… it's a long story, but we met on a shuttle to the academy and that's how I became Bones." He looked back and forth between Jo and Clay, noticing as his daughter and Jocelyn's fiancé exchanged an amused look. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but it reassured him. Joanna really did like Clay. He could tell that much. They respected each other and cared about each other and maybe it hadn't been so bad for her this last year while he was away and she was sick and he didn't know…

"I'm sure Jo would love to hear all about it," Clay offered. "Now, I'm going to go check on Joce, see if she's still sleeping. Let you two have some time to yourselves." He winked at Jo. "If Jo here's feeling up to it later, I'll make some of my momma's fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and collards from scratch for dinner a little later. You're welcome to join us, of course, L—Bones."

"O-okay, sounds good to me," Bones agreed, as he saw Jo nod.

Clay shot another wink at Jo and strode across the room towards the stairway, bounding up it two steps at a time.

Bones was thankful, grateful, to have the time alone with Jo. He needed it. They needed to… catch up. Try to get on the same page after spending so long apart. And on a more professional level, Bones needed a chance to find out more first-hand information about her health. He just hoped she'd be willing to let him try to help.

"So, Bones, I mean Dad," Jo said, drawing his attention back. "I—I need to sit down and it's time for my afternoon meds, but maybe…" she bit her lip, "maybe you can tell me a little about Captain Kirk and Starfleet and what it's really like."

"Sure, kiddo," he replied, the name slipping easily from his lips as if it hadn't been five years since the last time he'd said it. _I call Jim _kid_ and Jo kiddo_, he realized. It was unsurprising really, as they were, without a doubt, his two most important people in the universe and he felt an overwhelming need to protect, heal, and care for them both… and they needed it.

"I like it when you call me that. I'd almost forgot. I missed it," Jo admitted as she walked, slowly, and a bit stiffly, towards the chaise lounge, sinking into it with the grace of an exhausted old woman. "Can… can you help me with the blanket?" she asked, indicating the throw he'd seen earlier that was stuffed in the chair's crease. "I… my fingers ache and they're really stiff, and I get cold and…"

"Sure, of course," he reassured, crossing to her in two strides, and plucking the blanket from where it was stuck.

Jo slid to the back of the chair, reclining on her right side. "I wanna see you when you talk. You have to tell me… everything."

Bones carefully spread out the blanket, and draped it over Jo, resting a hand against her forehead. "You're warmer than you were a little while ago," he murmured. "I can give you something to help with the fever. Make your chills go away."

She looked hesitant.

"It won't interact with your other meds." He guessed that was the source of her hesitation. He'd seen the long list of warnings and contraindications, figured her doctors had been reluctant to put her on anything else and just left her to deal with low-grade fevers and nausea and aches and stiffness rather than risk treating any of them and either trigger a drug interaction or reduce the 'effectiveness' of the chemicals they were pumping into her. _Damn!_ He couldn't believe this was how they used to treat cancers, all cancers. What a mess. "I checked," he added.

"Okay, if you're sure." She yawned. Then a huge smile broke over her face. "Of course you're sure. You know, they say you're the best doctor in the entire Federation, maybe the galaxy. You've saved more lives and people and… I'm so proud that you're my daddy. No one else in the entire universe can say that."

"Oh, kiddo," Bones felt tears spring to his eyes as he sank to his knees beside her. "I… I'm going to do everything I can to make you better…"

"Dad," she shook her head. "No, that wasn't supposed to make you feel bad or like I'm expecting anything. I know you care about me. I've always known. I just. You're kinda famous. And sometimes it feels like it can't possibly all be real. But _you're_ really my dad. And you're here. And that's just totally awesome." She gave an even bigger yawn.

"Ok," he wasn't sure he believed her… how could she not expect him to save her or feel like she was getting lesser treatment than strangers if she knew about all the people he'd saved? But he wasn't going to argue with her, not now. Not when she needed to be cooler and take her meds and be comfortable, and they needed to get to know each other again. He knee-walked over to where his bag lay, and pulled it back.

"That's a cool bag," she murmured.

He chuckled. "You think so? I'm kind of fond of it too. Jim gave it to me."

"You like him," she said, eyes knowing. It was a statement. Not a question. "He's very important to you and he cares about you a lot too."

Bones was floored at the display of emotional maturity coming from his baby girl… only she wasn't such a baby anymore. She was eleven and wise beyond her years, because she'd had to grow up far, far too fast. "Yeah, that's right." He glanced down at his hands, which had already pulled his medkit from its place inside. "Ok this is hydrocortilene. It's going to help with your fever, and it shouldn't have any bad interactions with your other meds." He slapped the canister into the hypo and held it up, moving his hands towards Jo's neck.

She tilted her head to the side, giving him access, but when he pressed the hypospray to her skin, she yelped in time with the snap-hiss of the canister dispensing. "Ouch! I _hate_ hypos." She positively sounded like she was pouting. "I've had way too many of them."

His stomach knotted, the tug of emotion in his chest, almost overwhelming. "You know," he managed, voice remarkably steady. "They're not supposed to hurt. But Jim has the same reaction." He chuckled, images of Jim flinching and helping and swatting his hands away—even running across sickbay to try to avoid getting a hypo—played out before his mind's eye.

"Does Jim get a lot of hypos?" she asked, sounding a little surprised.

"Actually, yeah," Bones shrugged. His mind drifted to thoughts of doctor-patient privilege and confidentiality, but truth be told, since Jim was the Captain of a Federation starship, his annual physical report was public record anyway. Besides, Bones knew Jim would probably actively encourage him to tell Jo stories about him if it would encourage her, make her feel safer. Rules be damned. This was his kid and his best friend he was talking about. "Some of it's confidential," he started, "but if you read his medical report, you'd see he gets a lot of hypos. Starfleet Captains have to have a lot of vaccinations, and they—or at least Jim does—tend to get exposed to strange alien diseases that need treatment. And Jim gets himself hurt a lot too… not 'cause he's not good at his job, mind you, but 'cause he's one of those people who's always putting everyone else before him. Throwing himself in harm's way to protect them, and he gets hurt a lot in the process." He hesitated, unsure if he should continue. Some of the other stuff, the real reasons Jim had so many hypos, he wasn't comfortable sharing without an explicit okay.

"He sounds a lot like you," Jo observed, her tone suggesting _I know there's more you're not telling me, but that's okay._

"I don't know about that," Bones said, stroking a hand over her face. "I don't tend to jump in front of phasers and strange projectile weapons."

"But you take care of everyone else before you. That's why you went into space even though you've got… av—aviaphobia. That's why you went away, because you thought I'd be better with a dad who's straight." Jo said, far too knowingly.

"Jo, did… did your mother—did you overhear us fighting or… I…." Bones didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected Jo to know. He'd thought maybe, if Jocelyn had been particularly upset and angry at Bones, felt the need to explain to Joanna why her father wasn't there, but… but… He could feel the dread building inside him.

"Daddy, I knew you were gay when I was little. Like five. I figured it out 'cause I saw how you and mamma were together and how you looked at other people, and then when you left… yeah, mom said some stuff, but I knew. 'S'why I know Jim's so important to you." She smiled. "I need my meds now."

"Okay," Bones replied dumbly as he fumbled through the bag for the rest of the drugs she needed. While he'd been pouring through her medical records earlier that afternoon, he'd found out she was on a break from the heavy duty chemicals this week, scheduled to resume those treatments in about three days, though, from the looks of her blood cell counts and other bioreadings, she wouldn't be able to tolerate the chemical therapy much longer. It was just too toxic on her body. Instead she had a bunch of other drugs—immuneboosters and lighter-weight chemical antagonists that her system was strong enough to handle even on a 'break.' It involved a series of four different hypos, and he readied the vials. He also prepped a fifth canister.

"What's that one for?" Jo asked, pointing.

"That's an anti-nausea drug," he explained. "It's one… it's one I actually developed specially for Jim," he smiled, "and I think it should be safe with your other meds _and_ make it a little easier for you to eat and keep food down. Maybe you'll be able to enjoy some of Clay's cooking tonight."

Jo's eyes looked eager and hopeful, and she nodded acceptingly. "Okay."

Bones pressed the hypos to her neck one after the other until they were all done.

Jo winced after each one, but when he'd administered the final drug, she made a funny face.

"Something wrong? You feeling…"

"I feel better," she whispered. "Like, not so sick. Does it work that fast?" she wondered aloud.

"Yeah," he nodded enthusiastically. "Sorry, I should have warned you, but yeah, it kicks in right way."

Now that the drugs were all administered, and Jo was safely settled into her chair, they talked. She told him about school and life and how much the treatments sucked. How tired she was all the time and how she missed playing soccer, and how she was worried about not growing up... how kids teased her and shoved her for not having hair, but how she always told them who her father is, and how they all owe their lives and the lives of the planet to him.

He told her about Starfleet and the _Enterprise_ and the crew and space and being a doctor, and Jim. He added in as many stories as he could about Jim without betraying any confidences, and resolved to ask Jim for permission to tell Jo more. He needed to do that; Jim had a rough childhood. He'd been sick, not sick like Jo was now, but Jim had—_still had_ allergies and a misfiring immune system of his own that by all rights should have killed him years ago... and he was an abused child, and thanks first to his stepfather and then Tarsus IV, he'd had both PTSD and an eating disorder. And he could face Jim to get his permission, even if the things he was contemplating right now, like maybe leaving the ship or Starfleet altogether, had him getting knots and butterflies at the mere thought of seeing Jim or hearing his voice. But he'd put aside that discomfort and the tug-pull-need he felt each time he interacted with Jim if there was any chance it would help Jo.

"Daddy," Jo yawned eventually. "What did you mean when you said you're going to stay?"

"I... well, if we can get you better—and sweetheart, I'm going to do everything I possibly can to make that happen—and if your mom will still let me see you, I'm going to try to stick around, maybe stay in Georgia so I can see you all the time.

Jo's brow furrowed in an expression that reminded Bones way too much of himself. "Wait, if you stay here… won't you have to leave the _Enterprise_?" The way she said it, she sounded positively devastated.

It reminded Bones of the strange face she'd made earlier, but he was no closer to understanding now than he was earlier. "Well… yes, probably, I might be able to stay with Starfleet though. They have medical personnel who work on Earth. I might be able to take shuttles or transport to San Francisco or stay there and come here on weekends, but I'd be here for you more." It was the first time he'd said it aloud, the plans he'd started to make over the last… was it less than twelve hours? He didn't know if he could do it… leave the life he'd been building, leave Jim, but if he could have Jo—

"But then you wouldn't be with Jim, or your crew. You wouldn't be there—up there in space to save people if you were here." Jo sounded sad, tears starting to glisten in her eyes.

Bones was even more confused, he could try to blame it on the medication, but that was very disingenuous to his daughter. Something about the idea of him returning made her upset, and he needed to find out what it was. "Yeah, I wouldn't be with them, but I'd get to see you. I'd get to be your dad, see your soccer games, meet your friends, wouldn't you like that? It would be like old—" he started to say it would be 'like old times,' when she was a kid, but he realized it wouldn't. He and Jocelyn weren't together, Jo was growing up, and Bones wasn't _Leo_ anymore. He would never want to go back to being that repressed, self-denying, or miserable. Instead he said, "Wouldn't it be great to get to spend more time together?"

"Yeah, I'd love to see you more, but… I feel _safe_ knowing you're up there, looking out for us, for people everywhere, keeping Earth and the whole Federation safe, researching. If you were here, then I wouldn't have that, I wouldn't be able to talk about you to the kids at school that make fun of me or… just to be proud of you. I mean… I'd still be proud of you, 'cause you're my dad, and you're awesome… but I _like_ knowing you're on the _Enterprise_." She looked up at him from the chaise lounge, shifting under the blanket, eyes big and round, almost pleading. "And Jim makes you happy. I don't want you to be unhappy again Daddy. I remember when I was little, you were so sad, so lonely all the time. I used to think I was the only one who could make you smile, especially once Grandpa was sick. But you're different now. You smile. When you talk about Jim your eyes crinkle up, and I don't want you to go back the way you were." Saying so much left her panting a little, almost winded from the sudden exertion.

Bones really didn't know what to say. Here he was, trying to prove to his kid he could be a better father. He could save her life. Give her back her childhood, and _be there_, and she was telling him she didn't want him to be sad, worried he'd be sad if he stayed, did the right thing as a father? "Jo," he began carefully, "you're the most important thing in the world. Yes, I care about Jim, but he's an adult and I'm an adult, and you're my daughter, my responsibility. I love you, and he'll understand." He hoped Jim would; figured he would.

"But what about your responsibility to all those people out there? If you'd been here, in Savannah? If you'd stayed here instead of going to Starfleet? What would have happened to the _Enterprise_? What would have happened to Jim and Earth and all of us?" Jo demanded.

"Then someone else would have been the doctor, and I'd have been your dad—"

"Bullcrap!" Jo exclaimed, coughing a little with her raised voice. She swung her hand down in a fist, thumping it against the chair's cushion, making Bones jump. "I heard the news reports. Captain Kirk—Jim—wouldn't have been on the _Enterprise_ without you. If he wasn't there, we'd probably all be dead! And you're always my daddy, no matter where you are." She sniffed. "I want to see you, but I don't want you to leave." Her lip wobbled, and a few tears rolled down her cheek. "Please, Daddy, that's not what I want; promise me you won't leave!"

"Look Jo, Joanna, shhh," he soothed, petting the scarf on her head, and running his hand in long, soothing strokes down her arm. Maybe she'd romanticized the idea of him as a big Starfleet hero? Maybe that was something he'd have to work on sooner. But first she needed to be calm and happy and he needed to figure out a way to stop the disease that was trying to claim her life. He could figure _this_ out later. He wasn't ready to make any decisions to leave Starfleet, or the _Enterprise_, anyway. Not yet. "I'll promise you I won't decide anything right now. I just want to help you get better. And I want to get to see you more. I'm… touched, really, really touched, that you're worried about me being happy, and incredibly proud that you're such a kind, considerate person, that you worry about how I feel. That's very mature of you. But I'll be okay, I promise you whatever we work out, I'll be okay. I just don't want you to have to miss out on spending time with me, or to miss you growing up. I mean… you've been sick for a year and I didn't know, and I don't ever want to not _know_ something like that again." He let out a long breath. "So, how 'bout we make a deal?"

"What?" Jo asked, sniffling.

He smiled, tapping the tip of her nose with his index finger like he used to do when she was a little girl, "We'll focus on getting you well first, and we'll figure out if I'm staying or how much we're going to see each other, after."

Jo's forehead scrunched up again and she seemed to be considering his offer from all angles, as if looking for something objectionable, hidden, any unforeseen circumstances. It _really_ reminded him of how Jim approached, well—everything—and that made the pang of _missing_ him rise to a throbbing ache, but at last, Jo's face smoothed into a smile, and she spoke. "Okay, deal."

Bones's promise to think about it seemed to set Joanna at ease, but it unsettled Bones. Was she acting worried about him potentially leaving the _Enterprise_ because she thought she wasn't worthy of his attention? Or worse, felt she had to _test_ him because he wasn't the kind of father—in her mind—who would seriously place spending time with his daughter over everything else? Or did she, maybe, really feel safer with him out there, in space? And if that was true, what did it say about him… or her? Part of Bones was still surprised Jocelyn had allowed Jo to talk about him, considering how frank she'd been with emphasizing her wish that he'd stayed out of their lives.

But he'd been telling the truth when he told Jo they needed to focus on getting her well. Bones had to figure out how to maintain the tenuous balance between doctor-patient and familial relationships that he'd cultivated on the _Enterprise_ and at the Academy while he was back here in Georgia, surrounded by the ghosts of Leo's failures and haunted by the memory of his father's death.

~~~

Later, they enjoyed the delicious dinner of fried chicken and traditional southern sides that Clay had promised. They ate _together_—him and Jo and Clay and Jocelyn all at one table—and it was remarkably low on awkwardness. Jocelyn looked, well not rested, but better, a bit less like someone who hadn't slept in days and was teetering on the edge. She'd showered and changed and had done up her hair again, even coordinating her outfit to a sort of deep plum color, which more-or-less matched her nails.

Jo managed to eat the portion of a healthy, growing girl. She ate—ate and enjoyed it—savoring each bite as if she'd thought she might never taste food again. Bones wasn't sure how bad her anorexia (in the sense of loss of appetite) and nausea had been—although he could guess it wasn't good, judging by how frail she'd seemed—but catching the elation, relief, and near disbelief on Jocelyn's and Clay's faces, he realized it was probably much worse than he'd thought.

Bones had seen that look before, on Winona Kirk when they'd been back on Earth after the _Narada_ debacle. Jim hadn't been eating, and Bones had figured it out, picked up on the signs pretty quickly—lots of Jim insisting on eating meals in his room, turning down invitations to dinner or drinks or coffee, shoving his food around his plate when he couldn't avoid an invitation, trips to the head after eating _anything_.

It was a pattern Bones recognized. One he'd seen many times before at the academy any time Jim felt he 'failed' in some way. The behavior was worse—more extreme—both with the not eating and the obsessive purging, but Bones had pulled Jim aside, gave him the spiel they'd long ago worked out. He walked Jim through the psychological minefield while keeping his strength up with vitamin and protein hypos and counteracting the nausea and anxiety with a handful of carefully selected medications that would actually _help_ Jim rather than send him into anaphylactic shock. It took a little talk therapy and a few more doses before Jim had been able to keep food down, but he managed—within three days of setting foot on Earth.

Winona had been there, and she'd seen Jim eat with Bones watching, Jim smiling with gratitude and relief when the food didn't rebel the moment he'd swallowed it. Winona had gotten that look, and afterwards, when Jim had excused himself to take a comm from Admiral Archer and he _still_ hadn't excused himself to the bathroom, Winona had pulled Bones aside, thanked him for taking care of her boy, and asked him how he'd done it.

That's when Bones had found out that after Tarsus IV, it had taken over a year, an enormous amount of therapy, and even more 'near misses' that landed Jim in the hospital when the latest drug or easy-to-digest food supplement his doctors had tried wound up triggering a potentially fatal or merely intolerable allergic reaction before Jim had been able to eat fairly regularly. Another few months to coax his metabolism into cooperation. Winona had been amazed and overjoyed, and Bones had learned a new appreciation for Jim he'd not had before.

Now Jocelyn and Clay bore that same expression, so he pulled Jocelyn aside and explained what he'd given Jo, how it should work, and how often she'd need it to maintain the same effect.

She _thanked_ him, a genuine, joyous, no-strings-attached thanks. And the small amount of lingering awkwardness seemed to lift.

Before she could go back over to Clay and rejoice in the news that now Jo would be able to enjoy real food, he asked her why—or if—she'd started talking to Jo about him.

Jocelyn smiled—a little annoyed, but mostly amused. She said, "I think Jo always understood why you had to leave more than I did, and I was the one who sent you away. I told her you'd joined Starfleet, and she read and digested every birthday card you sent her. I tried hiding them once, but she found them…" Jocelyn looked away, "Then she saw the newsvid coverage two years ago—it started with the news of the 'tectonic disturbance' on Vulcan, and then they reported on the loss of news feeds from Vulcan, and then there were tremors in San Francisco and reports of a massive unidentified ship. Someone mentioned Starfleet casualties cadets being called up for action and the _Enterprise_ being in system and the disappearing again, and she came to me demanding answers."

"Demanding answers?" Bones asked, unsure what Jocelyn meant.

Her smile grew and she shook her head, making a little chuckle. "You should have seen her. She stormed into my bedroom at four in the morning, I wasn't even awake, and she wanted to know if I'd heard the rumors about Vulcan and destroyed Federation ships, and were you on one of them. By the time we actually started getting information from Starfleet—they had us under comm blackout more or less, wouldn't give information to _any_ family members without having information to give to all or almost all… Anyway, by then she had me talking about you and why you'd left and what you were doing. I said I didn't know how you managed to go into space seeing as how you were terrified of even taking a shuttle cross-continent for a conference, and she just blinked at me and told me flying meant you were finally being honest with yourself. That you were only scared of it because you felt out of control when you were flying, and that was a big problem when you were trying to make yourself someone else."

The exactitude with which Jo at, he did the math, _nine_? had figured him out, after not having spoken to him for the three prior years, was humbling. Cleary he shouldn't underestimate his daughter. She was already an impressively sophisticated kid. Which brought him back to the primary reason he was here, wandering around in his old life.

"I, can I…"

"You can stay here as long as you need to, to help Jo," Jocelyn replied, anticipating his question. It was clear she wasn't particularly pleased at having him around, but knew he could help Jo and was genuinely willing to give him a place to stay for the duration. "You're welcome to stay in one of the guest rooms on the second floor, or take the Garden Floor, whichever works better for you. Clay and I are on the first floor with Jo," she added.

The 'second' floor, was actually the building's fourth, the first was the third, and the 'Garden' floor the first. The main, public living area of the house were located on what was called the 'Parlor Floor'—the floor naming was one of the relics of the home's history dating back to the nineteenth century of which Jocelyn was particularly fond.

Bones thought briefly about it and knew space where he could focus without being disturbed or disturbing anyone was what he most needed. "The Garden Floor will be fine." It was an added bonus that the separate apartment would create a little extra barrier between him and Jocelyn. He ran a weary hand through his hair. He'd already been up for far too long, and the brief 'nap,' if he could call it that, when he'd been recalling his father's death and the implosion of his marriage, had been anything but restful. Besides, he knew he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. "I have some extra boxes being delivered to my mother's," he caught himself before he slipped up and said 'parents,' "Should I have them sent here instead?"

Jocelyn contemplated the question for a moment. "Jo has a vacation starting in about a week… Jocelyn let her voice trail off, clearly battling with some conflict of ideas. "She hasn't visited your mother since her birthday last year… She loves horses." Jocelyn looked nervously at Bones.

He got what she was suggesting. Let Jo visit her Memaw, ride some horses, and get some fresh air—let Memaw see her—all while Jo's still feeling up to it, just in case. Only Jocelyn wasn't demanding it out of a sense of propriety or entitlement as she once might have, instead she understood this was Bones's mom and Bones's childhood home and, well, touched on Bones's issues too… He'd helped his father die in that house, suffered his greatest medical and personal—it was a catalyst for the extended mess with Jocelyn that followed—failure there. Would he be able to work, cope, function, in _that_ setting? He wasn't sure. But she was giving him—and Jo—the option, and he had a week to figure it out. He'd just have to see how far his research got before the week was up. "Will that work with her treatments?" he hedged.

"Do you really think you'll have her on the same treatments in a week's time?" Jocelyn countered, her eyes flashing with a fire he hadn't seen since they were first married—she _believed_ in him.

"No," he admitted. "I'll see how this week goes, then decide whether it makes sense to go. Do you and Clay want to come?" he offered.

Jocelyn's forehead scrunched up, clearly surprised at the offer and struggling to decide. "I'll get back to you on that," she murmured.

His curiosity sated, his mind consumed with the task looming ahead of him, he resolved to say goodnight to Jo and retreat to the relative privacy and solitude of the Garden Floor.

It physically hurt pulling himself away from Jo. He picked up his bag and the PADD Jocelyn had given him and made his exit through the kitchen door, stepping out into the muggy, late spring night. Standing on the back deck brought back memories of family picnics and watching the stars and one awful time when Jo was about two and she ran across the wood in bare feet and gave herself a horrible case of splinters… they'd resurfaced the deck again after that. Pushing aside the wave of nostalgia, he crossed the deck and carefully descended the spiral wrought-iron staircase. The garden was spread out around him—dozens of Terran plants and an ancient, bubbling, cascading fountain shaped like a cherub filled the space. The landscaping was designed to spread tranquility and positive thought, or at least that's what the brochure on the property had said when he'd bought it.

Now he was aware of the rustling of leaves and the burbling of water, separate and distinct, audible over the sounds of the cicadas and the noises of the city that blew in on the breeze.  
It was like a self-contained world back here, a microcosm of the universe, a tiny speck of space that was like so many others, yet so unique… much like each humanoid, each _human_ was alike yet unique… his mind started racing—ideas, theories, possibilities about Jo's disease and how to treat it, cure it, approach it, started flowing into his mind. The floodgates opened and the thoughts tumbled in a torrent. He needed to work _now_. With a last, lingering look on the garden, he turned, stepping into the shadows of the covered patio created in the space underneath the deck above, and slipped inside the old-fashioned swinging door.

Once inside the separate garden apartment, he paused only to hastily remove his non-research-related items from his bag, and place them carefully in the parlor, a room decorated in shades of blue that he'd always found to be a more inviting place to sleep than the floor's proper bedroom. Its white wicker furniture was old, comfortable, and soothing in its interwoven simplicity, while the unassuming door that led from it to the gated outdoor space under the elaborate brick staircase to the house's main entrance on the 'Parlor Floor' above provided an escape and ample opportunity for him to pace, mutter, and think aloud without bothering anyone.

He hauled the bag and the rest of its contents into the sitting area of the proper bedroom and set up. First, he placed a quick call to his mother—let Eleanora know he was in town, that he and Jo might be coming, and yes Jo was still really sick and Jocelyn finally told him, but please don't be mad at her, 'cause Joce was trying, and he was going to sort it all out.

Next came the call he'd been dreading, a comm to Jim. He sent it voice only, puttering around the room and spreading out his paper journals and pulling up the right programs and analytics on the computer as he spoke, so he had an excuse to be distracted.

To his surprise, Jim didn't seem offended by the lack of visual, and he didn't mention the request for indefinite leave Bones had left for him. Bones thought Jim might be—well, _cagey_—about it, maybe upset Bones was thinking of possibly leaving him—the crew—and hadn't made time to discuss it to his face, but Jim sounded warm, friendly, and supportive. Jim was worried about Jo _and_ about Bones, and insisted Bones should feel free to share any and all stories about him with Jo, as long as they were true. "Anything to help her feel more comfortable or distract her, Bones."

Jim agreed to place a few queries to Starfleet Command about the best way to get a message to the Federation Genomics Commission, or FGC, the regulatory body responsible for overseeing and controlling the availability of gene therapy and genetic interventions. He and Jim said their 'goodnights,' not goodbyes, and then Bones was alone again with his thoughts.

For a moment he let himself imagine he was still on the _Enterprise_, closed his eyes, pretended he could feel the subtle vibrations of her engines underfoot, let himself believe Jim was just a short jaunt down the corridor away. He stilled, breathed, and drew strength from the illusion.

Then it was back to work.

"Lights, fifty percent." The environmental controls responded and the lights dimmed. "Computer," he said addressing the terminal and not the environmental control system, "open Lt. Cmdr. McCoy personal log, subfolder Joanna." He waited for the computer's affirmative response as he flipped through some of the most recent research from New Vulcan looking for the contact information for a particular scientist and diplomat he'd met at that conference last year.

The computer chimed and "subfolder open," appeared onscreen. The monitor and primary work station was set up above the room's ancient fireplace. He'd modified it back when he and Jocelyn were in the process of imploding. When they were at the point of being too cold around each other to spend much time in the same living space, but she hadn't yet kicked him out, he'd retreated down here and set up shop. It had only been for about two months, before his father's illness had gotten bad enough he spent many nights at his parents' home, but that was long enough for him to have made the necessary medical and research modifications to the computer and to have discovered the bedroom-furnished parlor was so much more comfortable than this room.

"Begin recording," he said aloud as he picked up the article—contact info included—that he'd been searching for. "Stardate 2260.135, Lt. Cmdr. Leonard Horatio McCoy recording. I need to find a way to cure Joanna's recurrent Vespasian-Telos Lymphoma with tertiary gene involvement…" he rattled through the basics and history of her case, making sure he had a synthesized narrative record of her medical history and treatments. When he was done, he had the computer pause and playback, confirming he'd gotten his thoughts out in a manner that made sense.

Satisfied, he began a series of subspace calls—messages mostly, because he was too tired to do the math and figure out the local time in any o the dozen or so places he needed to contact, and waking people up in the middle of their sleep cycle wasn't going to help him win any favors. First, he left messages for his virology and oncology professors at the Academy. Well, they weren't _his_ professors _per se_, seeing as he'd already been through med school by the time he got to the Academy, his contact with them had been minimal. He'd only had one class with Professor Ankhor, the oncologist, it was a mandatory xeno-oncology lecture, and he'd had two small seminars with Professor Tuval, the virologist, who was one of the few Vulcans still involved with Starfleet—he'd retired from the Vulcan Science Academy and had stayed on earth in his teaching capacity at the request of Ambassadors Spock and Sarek.

Next, he sent recorded messages to the half dozen or so civilian and military doctors who'd worked on the other cases of tertiary gene involvement Vespasian-Telos. He knew a few would probably balk at helping him if they knew who else he was talking to—they were fairly proprietary about their research and all had strong opinions about their colleagues—but he needed to get access to their research on the different cases of tertiary gene involvement Vespasian-Telos that had been cured so far. Then he sent another message to the doctor who specifically worked the hormone interaction side of the condition.

Next, he rattled off messages to another two dozen doctors and researchers—geneticists, oncologists, virologists, immunologists—anyone he'd ever crossed paths with who had a reputation for excellence, innovation, or plain ol' 'thinking outside the box,' whose specialty was even remotely linked to Jo's condition or could theoretically help. He tailored each message specially to try to appeal to the individual's interests and personalities. For some, like his immunology professor at _Ol' Miss_; the head of human genetics at Atlanta General, where he'd commuted to do his residency; Dr. Sykal at Savannah Memorial, his former boss; Dr Keating at Starfleet medical; and Dr April Winters, CMO of the _U.S.S. Constitution_, the messages were based on his personal knowledge. For others, most of whom he'd either met or heard give talks at conferences, and others whom he knew only by reputation, he based his appeals on whatever information he'd been able to glean online or through their personal sites, CVs, students' ramblings—whatever he could find, he used it. He resorted to flattery, appealed to doctors' desires for immortality, stressed the cutting-edge aspects of the research to some, and emphasized the humanitarian aspects to others. He stroked egos, made emotional appeals to fellow parents, and on one occasion—his message for Dr. Kian Strauss, a geneticist (and possibly closet eugenicist) with no love for the Federation's ban on nearly all gene resequencing—he suggested he might be able to provide a way around some of those regulations if only the good doctor would help Bones out. He was talking out of his ass, risking the ire of the Brass, and grasping at straws, but he really didn't care

Joanna's _life_ was at stake. His little girl. And if what Jocelyn had said was right, other kids—kids whose parents had thought everything was okay after getting the first gene therapy, kids who were just starting to grow up—were staring down similar death sentences with boatloads of red tape and almost no resources to help them along their way. If he could help Jo, perhaps he could help _all_ of them. It wouldn't be easy, what with different genes and possibly even unique mutations in each kids' genetic code being responsible, but if he could devise a mechanism that could be modified for each case… maybe it could be also be modified to work for other diseases that still plagued the children of other sentient species. For as far as medicine had come, there were still plenty of types of childhood illness that hadn't quite been eradicated. They were so few and far between the victims and families were looked at with sympathy, as the extraordinarily unlucky. Maybe he could change that. He was willing to plead, beg, cajole, and threaten if that was what it took.

But first… first he had to give Joanna back her future.

When he'd finished with the second round of messages, he sat down on the room's antique upholstered couch and began drafting what was perhaps the most important message of all… it was related to the brainwave he'd had in the garden.

Dr. Stobann was a Vulcan scientists who'd had the fortune to be in transit to Vulcan when Nero showed up. The _Enterprise_ had picked him up with the rest of the survivors strewn around the area as they sped away from the system. His ship had been tiny, damaged, and in great danger of being sucked into the gaping maw of the black hole where his home planet had been just moments before. Bones had met him, this quiet, unassuming man, not in treatment in sick bay, where he'd met so many of the Vulcan refugees he knew, but on the long, slow voyage back to Earth after the Narada had been destroyed and the _Enterprise's_ warp core jettisoned and detonated. They'd talked, shared stories of loss, and somehow struck up a tentative friendship based on mutual respect and fascination with each other's work.

Stobann was a geneticist, but he worked mostly with plants, since there were fewer restrictions and ethical quandaries. In particular, Dr. Stobann was developing genotype-specific viral vector delivery of hyper-focused genetic repairs—in other words, he designed viruses that would only go active if introduced to a specific individual and contained RNA that would specifically rewrite only the damaged or problematic portion of a particular gene in that individual, without making any other changes to the organism's genome. The idea was simplicity and safety. If you had a virus that was essentially an inert substance for everything in the universe but one individual of one species, and it contained only the genetic information and capabilities necessary to modify one potentially lethal defect in that organism, the risk of unintended consequences—both to the outside world and to the target organism—was miniscule.

At the time of Vulcan's destruction, Stobann had been exploring the science more as a potentially useful hobby. Since the establishment of New Vulcan, he'd focused on using the technology to adapt key proteins in Vulcan food staple crops—like plomeeks—to enable them to survive in the environmental particularities of the new planet, which would in turn allow Vulcans to continue their sustainable agricultural practices without drastically altering their diets or the ecosystem.

Of course, Bones was hoping that with a little luck and insight—and with the other samples and studies he'd requested—he and Stobann could modify the concept to target a specially engineered virus specifically to Joanna's DNA and rewrite the tertiarily involved gene with an alternative version of the allele that would be non-reactive with the primary gene's proteins _and_ the presence of adolescent hormones.

If they could do that, Jo's immune system should reset itself without the need to destroy any more of her cells or subject her to any more crazy, destructive chemical treatments or unproven transplants like some of her doctors had suggested. It also had the benefit of being a treatment mechanism the Federation might approve and even fast-track. Given Joanna's current condition, the Commission would need to move with warp speed, not its more customary months- or years-long foot dragging. There wasn't any risk of widespread mutation or contagion as had happened with the Klingon Augment Virus… Bones shuddered at the thought—that was one of those secret super-specialized things Starfleet doctors got to learn about. And unlike other forms of gene resequencing, it wasn't particularly invasive and didn't give geneticists room or opportunity to further tinker with the patients' DNA. Plus, the low risk of unintended side-effects minimized any fear of accidentally creating another Khan Singh.

Still, he'd need to determine the precise mechanism of interaction that had triggered Jo's strain of the disease. But if he could, he'd also likely be able to pinpoint which other genes or maybe even specific alleles were likely to cause tertiary gene involvement Vespasian-Telos, and what hormone levels would likely trigger the disease. That would help create a screening tool for other kids _and_ maybe give their doctors a head start in treating the condition if it _was_ triggered.

Of course, that was if everything could come together… He was getting ahead of himself again. First he needed Stobann's assistance.

This was a call he made live—he checked the chronometer, determined it was roughly 2300 local time on New Vulcan—he said roughly since the colony had a 25-hour day which always led to some wonky synching of local time to stardates and the like.

He held his breath, rapping his fingertips nervously on his knees as he waited for the call to connect. He looked down at his pants. He was still in his uniform… he really should have put on civvies for this, considering he was on personal leave, at least assuming Jim had processed his application, and he was making the request as an individual, a private citizen, not a member of Starfleet. He could get in a lot of trouble for abusing his position, and while he was grudgingly willing to abuse it if he had to—to get things done, but only as a prelude to exposing what a crock of shit the present system was that he had to abuse his position to make it work—he would only do that if the situation absolutely demanded it. Contacting Dr. Stobann was not such a situation. So, Bones would have to be very careful to convey his private status during this conversation.

The comm screen flickered to life, the bland UFP logo giving way to the image of Dr. Stobann. He was an olive-skinned man with warm features and eyes that some Vulcans would have accused of being _human_ for their roundness and apparent warmth and hint of emotion. He looked to be about fifty by human terms, which probably meant he was somewhere around 100 or so? Bones didn't know; it didn't matter, and he certainly wasn't going to ask. Even in his somewhat rebellious 'old' age, he still had too many ingrained behaviors of a 'good southern gentleman.' Stobann's dark hair was cut in the ubiquitous, slightly pointed Vulcan bowl cut, and he wore a utility-style jumpsuit similar to the exam uniforms for Starfleet cadets, but in a soothing neutral grey, rather than the more traditional, cumbersome Vulcan robes.

"Bones, my friend," Stobann greeted—that was another thing, Stobann was highly eccentric by Vulcan Standards and had lived among humans and various other Federation (and some non-Federation species) for much of his adult life. He was far more declaratory in his interpersonal relationships and endlessly fascinated with other cultures, yet not conflicted by such potential emotional influences the way, say, Commander Spock was. It meant Bones had an easier time relating—and definitely meant he never thought of Stobann as a 'green-blooded hobgoblin'—but then again that comfort probably came more easily to Stobann than it did to Spock, because Stobann was a 'pure-blooded' Vulcan and likely didn't feel the same pressure (external or self-imposed) to 'prove' anything. And okay, Bones knew all about that, so he wasn't going to get on Spock's case. But the fact of the matter was Stobann called him 'friend,' and that went a long way to putting Bones at ease.

"Greetings Doctor," Bones replied, hoping his ruminations hadn't led to too awkward a pause. "P-pardon," he tripped a little on the unfamiliar formality of the exchange he always felt drawn to when conversing with Vulcans, "my intrusion at so late an hour." He glanced down at his tunic. "I am contacting you as a private citizen in my individual capacity, not as a Starfleet officer or CMO of the _Enterprise_ I am technically on personal leave right now, and in my haste neglected to change."

"It is logical that you would wear that in which you are most—comfortable—at a time of personal distress or need, and it has been my observation you are most comfortable in your role as Chief Medical Officer of the _Enterprise_, so I understand and accept your appearance and acknowledge that you speak as _Bones_ and not as Lt. Cmdr. Leonard Horatio McCoy." Stobann's inflection was very, well _Vulcan_, a somewhat cultured blandness backed by an edge of sincere-yet-eager urgency, yet it seemed more friendly than most, almost like there was a layer of tongue-in-cheek humor, but not _quite_, lurking underneath the other layers of Vulcan formality. Stobann steepled his fingers and raised and angled eyebrow in clear indication that Bones should continue.

"I am sorry again for the lateness of the hour. It is late here too… you see," he sighed, "I'm in Georgia on Earth—the North American Georgia, not the Asian Georgia—and my ex-wife is letting me see my daughter, because she's sick…" He let his voice fade out, trying to come up with the least awkward way to ask this busy Vulcan scientist for a favor.

"I am sorry to hear of your daughter's illness. That must be most—distressing—for you. I believe she is quite young?" Stobann didn't sound, and clearly wasn't, annoyed in the way some Vulcans got when they encountered non-Vulcans making illogical conversation.

Bones knew Stobann would be content to let him explain himself in the way that made the most 'sense' from his perspective. That made explaining fractionally easier, and for that Bones was grateful. "My daughter has a rare form of tertiary gene involvement Vespasian-Telos lymphoma. She's the first child diagnosed with this particular allele involved, so her prospects are not good. Her mother has tried to get a second genetic intervention approved—she had the first before she was born, but…" Bones scrunched up his face to try to keep the tears—of exhaustion, frustration, and pure emotional overload at bay. He swallowed hard and looked up at the comm, his posture deflating as he sunk further into the couch. "But they don't have an intervention tested or designed for her case, so the application's stalled, and the doctors have resorted to barbaric chemical treatments." He looked Stobann directly in the eye, "I need your help."

Stobann just sat there, taking it in, politely pondering.

Bones could see that Stobann was putting the pieces together, forming his own conclusions. But Bones also knew once Stobann figured it out, he'd ask Bones to explain himself in his own words.

Sure enough, a moment later, Stobann asked, "And what is it I can do to help you?"

And like that, they were down to business. Bones explained his plan, and Stobann asked questions for clarification as the need arose.

When Bones had reached the end of his explanation, Stobann asked, "Do you need me to come to Earth, or will my work from New Vulcan suffice? I ask because I have many inquisitive and dedicated students here at the New Science Academy, and it is logical that the combined intellect of our minds and experiences would be more valuable than mine alone."

"Tha—that would be, 'sufficient,' like you said," Bones agreed with a nod and an amused smile. Stobann's agreement was great; procuring his agreement _and_ getting the combined intellect and efforts of Stobann's students was more than Bones could have hoped. But he'd take it. "I do not yet have all of the data we will need, but that should be coming soon."

"That will be most satisfactory. Please let me know as information becomes available," Stobann replied. He hesitated, then added, "I sense you are troubled—by more than your daughter's prognosis. I surmise, based on our past interactions, it is likely that you are _conflicted_ about a system that would deny your daughter treatment as an individual child with no special background, but possibly allow her to receive treatment and indeed recover _because she is your daughter_. The illogic and injustice of the situation is also emotionally distressing to you, and you are uncomfortable using your name and position to solve the problem."

Bones blanched, flinched… Stobann's assessment was a little too _accurate_ for comfort. He blinked, gulped, and responded, "That's correct."

"Ah."

Bones braced for the 'fascinating' he was sure would come, but it didn't. He should have known not to expect typical Vulcan behavior from Dr. Stobann.

Instead, Stobann said, "The illogic unsettles me as well. You could say it offends a Vulcan sense of justice. And while I understand the motivation behind the Federation's restrictions on humanoid genetic engineering, the inequities in its application are most illogical as they undermine and defeat the purpose. Therefore, my students and I will endeavor to help you resolve this problem and ensure all sentient beings in similar circumstances have access to the treatments they require. I will put my political clout behind the effort as well, if doing so now will help balance the inequity in the future. I ask only one thing in return, a… favor, I believe humans call it."

"Anything," Bones said, riveted. He really didn't care what it was, even if it was grossly illogical by _human_ standards. If this worked, he'd _owe_ Stobann so much … Hell, even if it didn't work, he still owed Stobann for trying.

"If we should come across a similar medical situation with Vulcans, you will assist me in return," Stobann explained.

"Certainly," Bones agreed.

"Then it is settled. I shall await your next transmission. Stobann out." On screen the Vulcan geneticist leaned forward and pressed a button ending the transmission.

Great. Now all Bones had to do was pull off a miracle.

 

~~~

** Part 4: Resolutions **

That first night, Bones didn't get much sleep. He tried turning in at about 0200, after organizing and mapping and planning and writing up a proposal to the Federation Genomics Commission that would, he hoped, convince them to fast-track Jo's application—if he found the solution he was looking for, he would administer the treatment no matter what, but if he could avoid losing his license, getting kicked out of Starfleet, and ending up in a penal colony in the process, that would be much better.

Still, his mind just wouldn't shut off, and he got up after an hour of fitful tossing and turning and spent the rest of the night pacing back and forth in front of the wrought iron gate in the outside space underneath the stairs. He did doze off at 0600, only to be awakened twenty minutes later by the chime of the subspace comm. He spent the rest of the morning into the afternoon responding to the chirping of his communicator and the dinging of the comm. Somewhere around 1400, he finally had all the data he needed to get started and forwarded it on to Dr. Stobann, who in turn told Bones to shower and eat something, for it was illogical to expect to do his best work if he was neglecting basic hygiene and sustenance.

He took the hint—or rather, followed the instructions—and showered, changed, and forced down some tepid tomato soup and a dry grilled cheese sandwich. He'd put on another uniform… Stobann was right, it was _difficult_ to feel comfortable wearing anything else.

By 1530 he'd finished adding to the emergency grant application, and had obtained the proper contacts at the FGC thanks to Jim's message to Starfleet. He forwarded his work on to Stobann for him to add whatever information he could before sending it on to the FGC.

He hadn't heard from Jim again… but that was probably good. Bones wasn't sure how he'd react to more contact with Jim. Every time he thought of Jim, which was every few minutes, he was reminded of what he was _supposed_ to be doing right now—what he would have been doing had he not received that fateful call from Jocelyn. What they had planned, rather than where he was. It just made him long for something he couldn't have, that could probably never be.

So, Bones joined Joanna for an afternoon break of meds and storytelling and a few short card games (he bet Jo would like chess if only Jim were here to teach her properly), and had an early dinner with Jocelyn and Clay and Jo before retreating back to the Garden Floor to work. That night, he got a little more sleep (but not much more), and on the third day, he fell into a bit of a routine.

He would rise at 0545, hit he head, run through a few basic exercises, and sit down to research with a meal replacement bar, water, and coffee by 0700. Then Bones would work for hours, pouring through the data. He looked at Jo's DNA and compared it and her synthesized protein profile to those of the other tertiary gene involvement cases looking for commonalities and patterns. He ran diagnostics. Compared samples. Ran his medical tricorder over everything, and had countless teleconferences with the doctors who'd responded amicably to his original queries. His days were punctuated with conversations with Stobann, and slowly they were making progress.

Each afternoon, when Jo got out of school (and on the weekend, when it was time for her meds) around 1330, Bones would take a break. He'd tinker with Jo's meds—she was now able to eat with enthusiasm, and by the sixth day, had gained back two pounds. Then they'd take a walk, usually to Forsyth Park, but occasionally to one of the smaller squares in their part of the city, like Oglethorpe or Pulaski, so Jo and he could enjoy the outdoors—the beautiful, lush greenery and copious amounts of Spanish moss—in a space that was playful and kid-friendly and felt like childhood and not the sterile, morose insides of a medical facility.

By the end of the week, Stobann had developed a carrier virus that was specifically targeted to Jo's genome. They were also very close—thanks in part to the geneticist of questionable ethics, Dr. Strauss, and one of the Academy professors (a colleague of one of the doctors Bones had contacted)—to figuring out the specific genetic tweak that would render Jo asymptomatic and not only send her disease into remission, but permanently keep it from coming back. Now Bones was waiting for the go ahead to try the viral vector therapy. If the FGC didn't stop dragging their heels, he and Stobann would have the gene patch worked out long before he got the okay to treat Jo. He knew Stobann and half his students were hounding all relevant Starfleet and Federation contacts, and that he could beg and plead and throw his somewhat famous name around some more, but he was hoping it wouldn't come to that.

Now he was faced with another decision, uproot Joanna and take her about 150 kilometers away to visit her grandmother, which would mean facing _his_ demons—fear, loss, regret, and the lingering awkwardness he felt around his family in the wake of his Father's death. His family still knew him as Leo… would they accept him as Bones? Especially when he felt a little (or maybe a lot) like if he got what he wanted—saving Jo's life—he might still lose—need to leave behind—everything he'd found that made him who he was—Starfleet, the _Enterprise_, even Jim.

A knock at the door leading from the kitchen to the garden pulled him from his thoughts. He set down the PADD he was working on, dropping the stylus neatly on top so it wouldn't get lost in the mess of papers, pads, and diagnostic equipment that currently littered the kitchen table, and stood, stretching enough that his back cracked. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants—still uniform pants. Today he was wearing only the black undershirt and not the blue medical tunic—he still hadn't managed to fully shed his uniform, nor did he desire to. Sparing a glance that the portable DNA / RNA sequencer that was running on the counter by the window, he strode to the door and pulled it open.

Jo _and_ Jocelyn were both standing on the doorstep underneath the deck above. Jo smiled at him, looking up expectantly.

Bones couldn't help but smile back. "How you feelin' kiddo?" he asked, pulling her in for a hug, noticing how much sturdier she felt compared to when he'd first arrived.

"Okay, Daddy," she giggled.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked Jocelyn, who was standing a half-step behind Jo and looking… awkward. There wasn't outright—wrath and hatred there anymore, but it was clear he and Joce were never going to be _friends_.

"Well," Joce began, but Jo cut her off.

"Mama's been talking to Memaw behind your back," she piped up with a giggle, a devious glint in her eye speaking volumes about her involvement in this scheme. "And Memaw said that while I'm on vacation, we can come and visit, actually, we _have_ to visit… as long as my doctors say it's okay," she added, eyes falling slightly, her smile faltering. She paused, fidgeting, before bursting out with an even brighter smile. "So, that's why we're dragging _you_ along to my primary doctor's today! He'll _have_ to listen to you; you're Dr. McCoy, you saved Earth, and you're famous! And then, we can go ride _horses_ and Memaw says she'll let me see your old room this time!" Jo grinned at him, beaming, as she bounced on her toes with new-found energy.

His point of indecision had been decided for him—how could he say 'no' to that?

Which was how he found himself an hour or so later, sitting—if you could call it that—in one of the too-stiff oak armchairs of Jo's doctor's office. Actually, Bones was more or less twitching on the edge of his seat, knuckles going yellow, then white, as he gripped the scrolled ends of the chair's armrests tighter and tighter.

Jocelyn looked distressed, guilty almost.

Bones was livid, but Jo, even though she had more right than the rest of them to be angry, _offended_ by this, this _pompous_ bastard-quack-asshole who called himself a geneticist, she looked… _pleased_. Smug. Like she was in on some joke that was so awesome nothing else mattered, and she was just waiting for the punch line.

"I'm sorry Ms Darnell, I just don't think it's advisable for young Miss Joanna to travel. Your daughter is very ill. I know it's difficult to hear this, but hers is a terminal case. If you want her to see her _paternal_ grandmother," he shot a glare at Bones, "one more time, I can respect that sentiment. Only Miss Joanna won't be going anywhere. She should stay _here_ close to her medical providers. Her grandmother can make the trip, if she cares to." He followed up with a spiteful, despising look in Bones's direction, and returned to glaring down his nose condescendingly at Jocelyn and flat out _ignoring_ Jo.

"But Dr. LaPorte, you said in the past that it was just very unlikely Joanna would recover. We understand how… serious… her condition is, but she's feeling so much better; she's eating again and going outside, finishing her homework without extensions. It seems like she's feeling up to it, and she wants to go so she can ride horses and her grandmother wants her to come, I don't see…" Jocelyn was trying to stay calm, but it was clear by the way her hands (nails re-manicured in robin's egg blue, but already chipped, not matching the cream beige sweater set she was wearing) were twisting and clutching in her lap, she was upset—hurt _and_ pissed at this doctor.

"Your daughter needs to be within a five minute shuttle ambulance ride of this hospital or another hospital that is fully apprised of her condition. The only other hospital that fits the description is in New York, and I am not sure why Miss Joanna would suddenly feel up to eating or playing, but if she is finally starting to adjust to the medications we gave her, that is a good sign. I would like to schedule for another round of chemical drip treatments." He paused adjusting the glasses on his nose—there for affect Bones was sure, since there was no reason to need glasses any more unless you were _both_ allergic to _all_ drugs used to treat eyesight conditions _and_ contraindicated for eye surgeries—which was about 0.0001% of the human population, and the only person Bones knew who fit in that group was Jim Kirk. This guy was a smarmy, pompous asshole with no bedside manner, who refused to even respect or acknowledge Joanna as a person. He was making Bones sick.

"It's not _your_ medications, sir. Joanna's father identified a few combinations of drugs that would counteract the effects of your treatment as far as her appetite and nausea were concerned, and she's improved dramatically," Jocelyn tried again.

"I wasn't aware Mr. Treadway had any medical inclinations," the doctor sneered.

"Not her stepfather her r—biological father," Jocelyn interjected.

Bones was pretty sure Jocelyn had almost said 'real' father, which felt kind of amazing, a real acknowledgment. He worried though about Jo, how all this talk of death and doom and gloom, while Dr. LaPorte ignored her, was affecting her.

But Jo remained silent. She cast a sideways glance at Bones, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a tiny smile. Then she—winked at him, her eyes lingering, knowing. Bones wondered exactly what was going on, but Dr. LaPorte was talking again, and the words coming from his mouth really didn't give Bones any room for distraction.

"Ms Darnell." His words were clipped. "I know you care about your daughter, want to do anything you can to help her, but letting an unethical hack who just happened to dupe people into letting him serve in Starfleet and then managed to not die during an attack during which he further breached medical protocols by making a disgraced colleague ill in order to smuggle him onboard his ship." Dr. LaPorte glared at Bones across his desk as if daring him to react violently. "Not to mention, he's an inherently untrustworthy excuse for a human being who brought disgrace to your family with his homosexual antics."

_Oh, it was like _that_, then_, Bones realized.

"Dr. LaPorte, I assure you my ex-husband is a fully qualified medical doctor. His treatments have improved Joanna's quality of life exponentially. I think it would be beneficial to her mental health to visit her grandmother, and her father will be accompanying her to take care of her should any complications arise. In fact," she paused to compose herself, expression settling into an encouraging smile, "his research has shown promise in actually curing the Vespasian-Telos—"

"Hah!" Dr. LaPorte's reaction was so enraged it was almost comical. "So he's what, going to violate the prohibition on genetic modifications to give you false hope? Jocelyn—"

Everyone, especially Jocelyn, bristled when the doctor addressed her by her first name. It went against her carefully cultured southern hospitality and proper manners and was a glaring sign of excessive familiarity—or in this case, disrespect.

"—Your daughter should come in for another round of treatment if she's feeling better. And we should check to make sure whatever ill-advised concoctions Mr. McCoy is giving her aren't making things worse." He shot a venomous glance at Bones. "Lord knows after what he's rumored to have done to his father, he shouldn't be allowed near any patients, especially family—"

Dr LaPorte might have intended to say more, but Bones had already risen to his feet and was looming over the desk, apparently with enough menace that the smarmy doctor was cowering in his seat.

"It's _Doctor_ McCoy to you, and don't you dare bring my father into this. We're not all so lucky as you. Some of us actually have to face and act in the presence of moral quandaries. And some of us actually know when we're doing more harm than good, _Doctor_," Bones said through clenched teeth.

"What are you implying?" Dr. LaPorte asked, when he'd recovered his composure enough to speak. He was leaning back in his chair at an angle, hands clutching the arm rests, face raised towards Bones in a despising glare.

"I'm not _implying_ anything," Bones spat back. "I'm saying you're so caught up in being prim and proper and by-the-book, you're so out of touch with your patients, you never stopped to notice Jo was getting sicker and sicker _from_ your treatments. My god, man! The chemicals you've been pumping into her system are damaging _healthy_ tissues. Much more and her liver is gonna shut down or she's going to have heart failure. But no, we should just keep fighting the disease in the nice, safe, _approved_ method. You figured you weren't going to get clearance for another genetic intervention, so you didn't even try!" He was leaning over the desk now, fists resting on its surface, knuckles down."

"But the regulations are there for a reason—" LaPorte protested.

"Yes! But you're also a doctor, and you have a _duty_ to your _profession_ and your _patients_ to use the influence and _privilege_," he almost spat the word at the now-cowering doctor, drops of spittle flying across the space between them, "to speak up and _do_ something when the regulations aren't serving their purpose" He glared. "You have a duty not to cause unnecessary suffering. To _listen_ to your patients. It's _their_ lives you're playing with."

"I thought I had a duty to do no harm and respect the laws governing my profession! Doctor," LaPorte added with a disgusted sneer.

"You and I may have a different idea of what _harm_ is, doctor. Consider yourself lucky your life has been sheltered enough you've never had to deal with a situation that falls outside your precious regulations." Bones glanced to Jocelyn and Joanna.

Jocelyn was regarding him with what appeared to be a mixture of embarrassment and admiration.

Jo was positively _beaming_ at him, no hint of the usual exhaustion or pain in her features. He got what her earlier wink was about now. _You've saved more lives and people and… I'm so proud that you're my daddy. No one else in the entire universe can say that._

He winked back at Jo before turning to face Dr. LaPorte and drawing himself up to his full height once again. "We're done here. Joanna won't be enduring any more of your barbaric treatments. She's going to visit her grandmother, and I am going to oversee her medical care while she's there. And you—well, I'm assuming the role of Joanna's primary treating physician, assuming her mother agrees." His eyes drifted to Jocelyn, who nodded her agreement. Bones nodded back. "Good. Seeing as your services are no longer needed, we will be going now." He turned and strode slowly towards the door, hearing the scrape of chairs behind him as Jocelyn and Joanna stood to follow him.

"You can't just fire me!" Dr. LaPorte's flustered reply came when Bones's hand was gripping the old-fashioned door handle. "Joanna has been under my care for over a year!" He sounded incredulous, exasperated.

"Yeah, he can." Jo was speaking, her voice happier and more _hopeful_ than Bones had heard since his return to Georgia. "And thanks to my dad, maybe I'll still be around in a year to celebrate the anniversary of being free from your treatments."

Bones heard another splutter come from LaPorte as he pulled open the door.

"Homophobic asshole," Joanna muttered behind him.

"Joanna!" Jocelyn scolded.

"Well he _is_," Joanna retorted.

Jocelyn's overwhelmed and relieved laughter followed Bones as he exited the doctor's office.

~~~

The mood as they returned to Jocelyn's townhouse that night was lighter than it had been since his arrival almost a week before. They were almost cheerful. Bones felt encouraged and buoyant. He could tell by the enthusiasm, with which Joanna both devoured her dinner and engaged in conversation that night that he'd done the right thing. The feeling of relative ease followed Bones all the way back to the garden apartment.

It faltered, though when he saw there was a message from Jim waiting for him. It was video as well as sound. Jim asked how Bones was, how Jo was, if there was anything else he could do to help. He wanted to know why Bones hadn't replied to his last two messages and why he'd had boxes shipped to his mother's house. It seemed light hearted and teasing, but Bones could hear the underlying question, 'are you coming back?'

The closer he got to a successful treatment for Joanna, the closer he came to having to answer that question. He knew—thought—Jim would want him to stay here, be a dad, but… he didn't know for sure, and even if it was the _right_ thing to do, he still felt so _conflicted_, indecisive. And there was the small matter of Jo's rather perplexing resistance he stay onboard the _Enterprise_. He worried she might be self-sacrificing, afraid to ask from something that would make her really happy. But then again, he wasn't sure, especially after her smug display at Dr. LaPorte's office today.

He saved the message from Jim without replying. He'd called in enough favors already. He really didn't need to burden Jim with anything else, especially when Bones's own absence was likely creating extra work.

The rest of his messages were far less distressing. Dr. Stobann estimated he'd have a solution within the next 75 hours. Starfleet Medical had agreed to file a supporting petition with his application to the Federation Genomics Commission, and the Commission itself had acknowledged receipt of his application and was granting expedited review.

He packed up his research materials and equipment, getting them ready for transport to his mother's. But as he stowed his belongings inside the bag Jim had given him, he couldn't suppress the ache of need and longing.

~~~

The farm where Bones had spent most of his childhood and a significant portion of the darkest days of his adulthood was virtually unchanged. Same centuries-old white farmhouse, same weathered grey clapboard-sided barn, same peach trees, same red dirt showing through the thinner patches of grass and lying in scuffed, hard-packed heaps and divots in the corral where Buttercup's and Peaches' hooves had worn paths in the grass. The horses were the same—just a little older, a little greyer around the muzzle than when Bones had last been there.

But _he_ was so different. He hadn't been here, hadn't seen his mother or the horses or the red dirt or anything, since David McCoy's funeral. Back then, he'd been on the verge of disgrace. His marriage had just imploded. Jocelyn was threatening to tell the Georgia Regional Medical Association that he'd assisted his father in hastening death without following the proper paperwork and procedures. He'd admitted to _cheating_, and Joce wasn't letting him see Jo—she'd even kept her clutched close to her as they'd stood at the funeral in matching black dresses. His sisters hadn't known how to react to him—they'd whispered amongst themselves whether scandalized by the revelation their brother was gay or blaming him for taking their father from them, he'd never been sure; he'd been far too chickenshit cowardly to ask.

And then there was his mama. Eleanora McCoy was from wealthy, but hearty Southern stock, strong and gracefully plump, but she'd looked like a shadow of herself, standing alone, grieving. Bones—Leo—had wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort her, let her know she wasn't alone. To tell her he was sorry, to ask if he'd done the right thing, to let her know he'd only wanted to follow his father's wishes and take away his pain. To apologize for disgracing the family by not being a good southern son… But he'd been too afraid. Too scared to face her.

Only now here he was. Alone in the kitchen of his childhood home with his mother. Jo was napping in the guest room that had been made up as _her_ room, and Clay and Joce had headed back to Savannah that morning after enjoying the last day and night at the farm as some sort of surreal extended family.

"Leonard, I don't blame you for it, you know. I'm not mad at you. I know what David wanted, and I know you did exactly as he asked. It was a kindness; a _loving_ kindness that only you could have given."

Bones looked up from his seat at the ancient resin-covered kitchen table, a giant slab of southern pine planed into a long rectangle supported by legs in the shape of two old-fashioned saw horses end to end under the center. He'd been staring out the window at Buttercup, the dappled grey mare who was munching at some of the taller grass that jutted into the corral from between the rungs of the fence. She had a perfectly good feeding trough full of oats and shorter grass inside the spacious pen, but she'd always preferred to snack… Bones had spent countless hours as a young boy making sure there was nothing toxic or harmful within grazing distance. Slowly, his mother's words started to sink in… "Why only me? Because I'm the only one unethical enou—"

"Stop it!" Eleanora commanded, her tone was scolding, but her eyes were gentle, sad. "Stop beating yourself up. No." She shook her head. "You were always the closest to your father and you wanted so desperately to please him. Your sisters, they loved him, but they never had the same devotion." She shook her head again as if pushing away some unwanted thought. "I never understood how much you put yourself through. You were always trying to be perfect, weren't you. You thought you needed to be the ideal Southern Gentleman, as if your father and I would stop loving you if you let yourself be… yourself. I should have pushed harder to let you know…"

"Know what?" he asked. The words were barely above a whisper.

"That we loved you unconditionally, for who you _are_, not who you thought you should be. I—when you started dating Jocelyn, I tried to convince myself that maybe I'd been wrong, and you could be happy with a man _or_ a woman. I didn't want to believe that you would go so far to fit what you thought we expected—"

"I loved Jocelyn," Bones said, interrupting. "I loved her." The words echoed and he found himself unable to look at his mother.

"But you weren't in love with her." She said it softly, gently, "You loved the idea."

"Yes," he whispered, almost afraid to say it. "But I don't regret it. She gave me Joanna. Especially now that I get to see Joanna again. I'm going to make things right, make you proud to have me as your son—"

"Oh, Leonard." It was Eleanora's turn to interrupt. She crossed the space between the counter where she'd been standing peeling potatoes using an old-fashioned peeler to the table in two quick strides, laying her hand on Bones's shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. "I _am_ proud of you. And don't think you have to go changing things with your life to make Joanna happy. She loves having you on the _Enterprise_; I may not have seen her much in the last five years, but ever since the whole Vulcan disaster, her daddy the hero is all she can talk about."

Bones was having a hard time hearing her. Accepting what she said. The last five years—hell his whole life, he'd been carrying these ideas around inside him. Duty, family, honor, respectability. He'd thought they were the cornerstones of the McCoy family and their relatively prominent place in Georgia society; he'd been willing to do anything to bring honor his family in accord with the regional culture. Could he have been so wrong? Had he molded and shaped himself into the ideal son, to meet expectations that were never there in the first place?

"I never realized how much you took those expectations to heart, or how much they were hurting you," Eleanora said as if reading his mind. She brought her fingertips up under his chin, tipping his face up to meet hers as if he were a small child. "I'm sorry about that. Like I said, you were always so devoted, pleasing everyone else seemed to make you so happy, I never stopped to make sure you were actually happy for yourself."

He sniffed a little at that his emotions had been all over the map ever since Jocelyn's call a week—almost a week and a half ago. That was more or less the same thing Jim had said to him early on, right after they started at the Academy, back when Bones was so busy being miserable and pessimistic he'd given up on the idea of being genuinely happy. "Family's important," he said at last.

"Yes it is," his mother agreed, "but so is building a life _for yourself_, and finding _your own_ family. You may not realize it, but we McCoys are thick-skinned. We don't shy away or shut up just 'cause someone wants to make a fuss."

He chuckled ruefully. "I think you're right about that." He let his mind wander again, tracing back over the threads of the conversation. "You're really not upset about… about Dad, I mean, if I hadn't done anything—"

"If you hadn't done anything your father would have found a way to stop the pain himself, or would have found someone else to do it," she said, "and someone else might not have cared so much about what he wanted or needed." It sounded so simple, cut and dry.

"But the cure—"

"He never would have made it. Even if you had managed to keep him alive," she shook her head. "That wasn't living. Even if he was technically _alive_ that long, there was no way he could go on and still be himself... That wasn't what he wanted, and you knew it. That's why you helped him." She bumped her hip gently against his side.

He gave into the childish urge to lean into his mother, wishing for a moment he were still a kid instead of a thirty-three-year-old man. It would be so much simpler. "I should never have treated him. I didn't know how. How to maintain—perspective—while treating people… people I care about back then."

"But you do now." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah, yeah I do," Bones said with a long sigh, _thanks to Starfleet_ he didn't add aloud. "Joanna's gonna be alright, if… well she's going to be alright no matter what. I just hope the Federation comes through with the authorization for her treatment…" He didn't want to have to give up medicine to save his daughter, especially with so many more kids who were stuck in the same position. He could help them. And then there was Jim and the _Enterprise_… sometimes he really wondered if anyone else would be able to take care of Jim, or rather if they would care enough.

Once again, his mother seemed to be reading his mind. "What about Captain Kirk, or uh, Jim, that's what Joanna said you call him. Between the two of you, you've got to have enough leverage to make the Commission do the right thing." Her voice was suggestive and hopeful.

"I… I don't want to burden Jim." It sounded weak to his own ears. "Besides, part—a big part—of the problem is right now ordinary people can't make the system work. So, if I have to pull rank or get someone else to—"

"You'll just have to use that influence to knock some sense into them," Eleanora supplied.

"I guess." He frowned. "I don't… I hate that the way the system seems to work now leaves most people with no help, no hope, and rewards those who are in a position to exert influence with opportunities no one else gets. I'm hoping if I can get Joanna's treatment approved, I can arm-twist the Federation into changing their entire approach to therapeutic gene repair."

"I understand that, but if you're going to use your position to change the system, why are you so hesitant to ask Jim for help?" she asked, her hand tracing up the side of his face to give his hair a motherly pat.

He didn't answer. It was a good question. He knew the answer, but it was too complicated to explain. Bones was still too conflicted to articulate his reasoning. Instead he let his eyes drift over to the widow again, feeling the far-off tug of space and the _Enterprise_ and Jim.

"Ah, it's like that," his mother observed.

His eyes shot up to meet hers again questioning.

She stepped back crossing her arms. "Bones, that's what everyone calls you now, right?"

He nodded. He hadn't realized Jo'd had that much time to chat with her grandmother. Then again, he _had_ been rather… preoccupied with his research and her treatment; there was probably all sorts of stuff he'd missed.

"And Jim Kirk gave you that name?"

He nodded again.

"You're in love with him," she realized.

He didn't nod, but had to look away. His eyes followed the same path over to the window and the horses and the universe outside. Buttercup had been joined by Peaches, a sorrel mare who was getting up there in age, over twenty now. They were playing with each other, nipping at the same clump of grass and then chasing each other around the corral only to settle down and start it all over again.

"I see," Eleanora said, "You're in love with him, but you're thinking now that you've got Jo back, you should leave Starfleet, come back here, and you don't want to tempt yourself."

Bones eyes jumped back to his mother, burned by how close she'd come, hitting the nail on the head like that. "We were supposed to be spending vacation together," he admitted in a low murmur. "But, I mean, there's no reason for me to stay away. Jo's here, and she needs her father."

"She needs a father who's happy. Were you not listening five minutes ago when I was talking about you not knowing how to be happy for yourself? Well this is what I'm talking about. You need to stop trying to sacrifice your own happiness for everyone else. Yes you have a daughter and she loves you, but listen to her when she says she feels safe having you up there zooming around the galaxy and taking care of people."

It was one thing to hear that coming from Jo, who might have any number of reasons to be afraid to ask him to stay, but he was surprised to hear it coming from his mother. Actually, the entire conversation hadn't gone anything like what he expected. If he'd known his mother wasn't angry about his father's death, wasn't ashamed that he'd not turned out to be the proper Southern Gentleman, maybe he would have come back sooner? Only that wasn't really accurate, because sooner he might not have known himself so well, wouldn't have been so comfortable in his own skin.

"Don't be foolish L—Bones," she chuckled at the name. "Joanna told me about your conversation. Just… just think about what I said, okay. Know I'll love you no matter what you decide." She leaned over and kissed his temple, going back to the counter to peel more potatoes.

Bones still didn't know what to do.

~~~

Eighty-two hours later—only seven hours longer than he'd estimated it would take—Dr. Stobann had a cure, or rather he and his students had engineered a way to incorporate the specific modification to the gene that had triggered Vespasian-Telos in Joanna that Bones had constructed into the custom virus. It had required the help of an ethically challenged geneticist and the head of Starfleet Medical, but it was done, ready, as close to tested as could be given its highly individualized nature.

Only Bones was still waiting for the green light from the Commission. He was anxious, tired, and distracted. It didn't help that he'd received three messages from Jim during the last three days, and he'd yet to respond to a single one. What was he supposed to say? Jim was asking about Joanna, and until the Commission either approved her treatment or he gave up on waiting and administered the hypo with the retrovirus, there was nothing to say that he hadn't already said. Besides, he didn't want to _jinx_ her recovery by counting his chickens before they hatched.

Jim had also asked about their shore leave plans, reminding Bones they had another six weeks before the _Enterprise_ was due to leave spacedock. What was Bones supposed to say to that? Especially since he was presumably, officially, on indefinite leave.

Then Jim had the nerve to ask if _he_ was okay… which was, again, impossible to answer. As long as Joanna's situation remained in flux, Bones was in flux. He couldn't make long-term plans, or even figure out what he was going to do next week, and he certainly couldn't resolve how he felt. Right now, he felt like he was at the mercy of the Commission, even though it was really _Jo's_ life they held in their hands.

So, the messages remained unanswered… Bones felt guilty, but he hoped Jim would understand, if not now, in time. If he was going to stay, or if Jo's situation was going to be… pending… for a while, it would make sense to get used to living life apart, not depending on each other so damn much.

Only deep down, he knew he was making excuses… excuses like _Leo_ used to make… and Bones wasn't Leo; he'd left that life behind.

He should be spending more time with Jo, focusing on her, reconnecting with his mother too, but he was itchy and irritable, and started to panic about the Commission and the efficacy of the genetic repair every time he helped Jo with her meds.

She seemed mildly amused with his concern, and he knew it was because her faith in him was complete and unwavering, but that just made Bones twitchier… what if it didn't work? What if he waited too long for the Commission to make up their minds? What if he failed her, lost not only her, but her trust as well? So he spent an awful lot of time pacing his room, and when Eleanora caught wind of that, she sent him outside 'for his own good' to keep him away from double-checking his research and his comm messages again and again and again. Then he wandered around the farm, visiting the horses. He thought about riding, but he knew his whipcord tension would only spook them, so he opted not to inflict his neuroses on the gentle animals until he'd resolved at least a little of his anxiety.

When another day and night had passed and there was still no word from the Commission, he contacted Dr. Stobann, looking for advice.

"Well, Dr. McCoy, I have no more advice than what I have told you. It is illogical not to use every resource at your disposal, although I can understand, as much as a Vulcan can, why your emotional considerations might motivate you otherwise." The Vulcan researcher had looked positively exasperated over the subspace feed. "I'll save my breath however, because I doubt I will change your mind. Instead, allow me to do my best at persuasion. Do I have your permission?"

"Yes, please, anything you can. It's your research too, and I know you're worried about the Commission's current policies given the situation on New Vulcan," Bones pleaded. "Thank you."

After his conversation with Stobann, Bones resumed his listless pacing, but with a little less franticness. Stobann might be eccentric by Vulcan standards, but he was well-respected. Surely he could figure out a way to make the Commission listen, especially if he tied Jo's treatment to the bigger picture, and even more so if that bigger picture involved helping Vulcans form potentially lethal diseases... by nature of their endangered status Vulcans commanded the attention and consideration of everyone these days.

His hope swelled enough that he ate a proper breakfast with Jo and his mother, enjoying the familiar fare of grits and eggs and biscuits and white gravy—cuisine that almost never made its way onto the _Enterprise_. Jo peppered him with questions about his missions and the crew, and his mother seemed genuinely interested in his answers. He loosened up, and told tales of Christine and Geoff and the rest of his staff in sickbay, he joked about Pavel and his genius, and how frighteningly talented Hikaru was with a katana, and he even talked about Spock and Nyota and Scotty...

"What about _Jim_, Dad? He's your _best friend_ and a hero and the most famous Captain in the fleet! Don't you have any stories about him?" Jo asked eagerly, her voice far too knowing and suggestive with how she said 'best friends.'

"Yes, Bones," his mother said, teasing, "do tell us something about the man who managed to give you a new name."

His fork clattered to his plate, knocking a bit of scrambled egg off onto the table. "Um, well... Jim—" he hedged, really unsure how he was going to handle telling _more_ stories about the man he missed like a limb (it was one thing when Jo was feeling so poorly and he'd first arrived, but something else entirely after almost two weeks and three unanswered messages and a mountain of pain and indecision and maybe even burgeoning regret), but he was saved from the need to formulate an answer when the comm chimed, flashing with another priority one message addressed to his account. His jaw dropped a little when he saw the alert flashing through the open entryway between the kitchen and the office located next to it. "Excuse me," he said instead, putting his napkin on the table and rising from his seat. The chair scrapped along the floor in the same stutter-step rhythm his heart had suddenly adopted.

Jo started to move to, and Eleanora was setting down her fork as if to follow suit. He couldn't do this with an audience. Not yet. He needed to know the contents of the communiqué before anyone else. "Wait here," he instructed, flashing a feeble smile to his daughter, but unable to really look at her.

He strode with purpose across the kitchen and into the office, pausing only to slap the pad that signaled the door to slide shut. It was a glass door and wouldn't afford him much privacy, but even blocking the sound was better than nothing. His palms were sweating and his stomach was a hornet's nest of dread, but he managed to slip into the seat without falling and accept the call.

"McCoy here," he said as the image of a grey-haired, human woman in civilian clothing, but wearing a lab coat with the insignia of the Federation Genomics Commission filled the screen.  
"Dr. McCoy," she said with a smile. "Good, I'm so glad we caught you so quickly. The Commission has reviewed the application and affidavits for expedited review you submitted in your daughter's genetic intervention petition." She paused to pick up a PADD on the desk in front of her.

Bones twitched, the question, 'and' on his lips. He barely refrained from jumping up and demanding the Commissioner get to the point. But he managed to hold his tongue, not wanting to give a bad impression if she could be bearing good news.

She tapped at the pad for a few moments before setting it down and meeting his eyes with a huge smile on her face. "I have to say, with the array of researchers, clinicians, diplomats, and Starfleet officers backing you on this, we could ill afford to wait any longer. Congratulations on your discovery, doctor, if this works, you and Dr. Stobann and Dr. Straus," she wrinkled her nose a little as she said the unpopular geneticist's name, "will probably reshape the way we treat genetic diseases and handle gene resequencing treatments. Your request is approved. Your daughter sounds like she's one very special little girl."

When the Commissioner stopped talking, Bones was still trying to catch up, processing what she said. _Diplomats? More Starfleet officers?_ Well, he supposed the doctors he'd contacted at Starfleet Medical were indeed officers, and perhaps Stobann had contacted a Vulcan diplomat, maybe even Ambassador Sarek or _Ambassador_Spock, considering the treatment did have huge potential, and the Ambassador knew of Bones at least. He still bristled at the mention of Jo being very special—she _was_, to him, but his status and her relationship to him shouldn't mean she got special treatment. Still, there was that old Terran saying about not looking gift horses in the mouth... his mind flicked momentarily to the battered copy of the _Aeneid_ Jim had given him for his 29th birthday, and just how destructive gift horses could be. But—_Joanna's treatment was approved!!_ "Thank you, Commissioner," he spluttered at last. Then, composing himself a little more, "I sincerely thank you on behalf of myself and my colleagues for the opportunity to employ this treatment, and as a parent, thank you for allowing me to save my daughter's life. I hope this will convince the Commission to change its procedures—" and attitudes, he wanted to add, but didn't—"so all who need it may access such treatments."

The Commissioner's expression soured a little, but she kept on smiling and didn't scold him. "It's my understanding that you have the materials necessary to assemble the treatment where you are in, uh, Georgia?" She asked, consulting her pad once more.

"Yes, ma'am. And I can administer it to Joanna right here as well," he replied, not mentioning he'd already had the virus synthesized, loaded into a carrier solution, and waiting in a hypo since he'd finalized the formulation. It was sitting in a secure container just waiting for him to administer it.

"Well then, you are authorized to treat her at your—and her—earliest convenience. Please be sure to promptly file the necessary reports on the initial outcome and set up a schedule for further monitoring and supplemental updates."

"I will be sure to, ma'am," he replied. Of course he already had the schedule and diagnostics and prep work for the reports worked out... it was one of the few things he'd been able to do in the last two days that was actually productive.

"Good luck, Dr. McCoy. We await your reports." The Commissioner ended the transmission.

Bones sat there for a moment, shaking. He was still curious about who else had submitted affidavits in support of his application, but he pushed the curiosity aside. After one week and six days of nonstop work and anxiety and forty-eight hours of constant fretting about getting approval, now that it was here, he was overwhelmed and a little nervous. Worst-case scenarios and highly improbable complications swept through his vivid imagination. Suddenly he was afraid the retrovirus and the gene repair it carried would go horribly awry, failing to help Jo or maybe even making her sicker. But that kind of fear wasn't new, he'd felt it more times than he could count on the _Enterprise_, far too many of those occasions involving Jim's life hanging in the balance. He always had a tiny bout of stage fright, before he pushed it aside and plunged forward, with the reassurance of the fully informed consent of the patient whenever possible. Grabbing onto the familiar touchstone, he pushed himself to his feet, and returned to the kitchen. If he was shaking, neither Jo nor Eleanora called him on it.

His mother didn't say anything, just looked up at him with an expression that begged, 'well.'

It was Jo who spoke, although she only said, "Dad?" her voice hesitant, hopeful, but so afraid. In that moment she looked far younger than her eleven-plus years.

"They, the Commission, I mean, said yes. They gave me the green light. I can give you the treatment with the Federation's full blessing." He burst into a smile, while tears of relief flooded his eyes.

"Yes!" Joanna exclaimed with a whoop, pumping her fist up and down enthusiastically. She sprang from her chair and ran to him, her thin body slamming into him as she wrapped her arms snuggly around his body.

"Oof," he huffed with the surprise of the assault and the display of energy—it was more vigorous activity than he'd seen from Joanna since they were reunited. Although it made sense, she was probably riding high on adrenaline, so he'd have to be sure to watch out for the crash that was sure to come.

"Thank you, Daddy," she murmured into his side. "I knew you could do it." She pulled back a little, turning big, nervous-excited brown* eyes up at him. "So when _do_ we, you, I?"

"Whenever you're ready," Bones said softly. "It's a hypo, just a hypo. I give it to you and then we wait... there's monitoring equipment—it would be easier with a biobed, but I'm assuming you don't want to go to the hospital?"

Jo shook her head vigorously.

"We can do it in your room, or—"

"How about the living room?" Eleanora suggested.

Bones and Jo turned, synchronized, to face her.

"That way Jo's got company, and I can keep an eye on you," she shook her finger at Bones, "and make sure you don't worry or grumble yourself into an early grave."

"We could do that... is that okay with you, Jo?"

She nodded. "Yes. Can we start now?"

He looked down at his daughter, who was wearing a blue scarf on her bald head and dressed in fleece pyjamas with an IDIC print on them—he had a sneaking suspicion Jim had gotten them on one of their many missions to New Vulcan and had convinced Bones to send them to Jo as a birthday gift 'to show her what awesome places her dad went for Starfleet.' He glanced over to her half-eaten breakfast. "You should probably finish eating first," he said matter-of-factly. "We don't know how you'll react to the treatment."

"Okay," she agreed, pulling away to go sit down, "but I don't want to wait too long."

He made an aborted nod, but his conscience got the better of him, "Jo, you should know... I, Dr. Stobann and I have tested this as much as we can, but there's no guarantee... we don't know." He bit his lip, fighting nerves to look over and meet her eyes. "Jo, this could help, it could—should, if the math we've done is right—cure you, make it so there's no chance of the Vespasian-Telos coming back. It could also give us the evidence we need to change how the Federation approaches people in similar situations to yours—no more waiting while butchers pump you full of chemicals, no need for you to know someone in Starfleet to get the treatment approved." His voice turned grim, serious, "But there's also the possibility it might not work, or might have an unintended side effect or consequence we didn't expect. We try to factor in every variable, to calculate, model... but we've done this so fast and there's no way to do a true field trial and—"

"Dad," she interrupted. "It's okay. I trust you. Even if it doesn't work, if I still die? It's still better than what Dr. LaPorte promised me. I'm gonna finish my grits, and we can do this, yeah?"

"I just don't want to hurt you, or waste our chance if there's a better—"

"Leonard. Bones." his mother said firmly, "listen to your daughter. She isn't your father. You aren't that boy anymore, remember? Your best is the best shot she's gonna have. I have faith in you too."

He recalled their previous conversation, thought about all the times he'd been in a similar situation with Jim and whatever impossible mess he'd gotten himself in this time. Thought about the emergency surgery on then-Captain Pike two years ago. Took a deep, deep breath, and let go. "Okay. You're right." He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous-embarrassed tick he'd picked up from Jim. Glanced at his breakfast, which... nope, he'd lost his appetite. "I'll go get set up in the living room, then."

It only took a few minutes to retrieve the hypo and set up the monitoring equipment he needed. He could slip the portable monitor around Joanna's wrist and it would allow him to track the replication of the virus in her system and the success (or not) of the retrovirus's insertion of the modified gene segments. Bones finished up his preparations by linking the monitor, his medical tricorder, and a PADD so the readings and data would be stored and ready for further analysis. Once that was done, he fetched Jo's favorite blanket and some soft pillows and made a sort of nest for her on the couch, and updated his project logs while he waited for her to finish up.

About five minutes after that, just after he'd finished recording all the details he could into the logs without having Joanna there, she and Eleanora entered from the kitchen, both with smiles on their faces, both nervous. Eleanora had grabbed her crotchet hooks—a sure sign she was on apprehensive—and sat down in an armchair on the other side of the room. Bones knew enough about his mother to have figured out long ago that the only reason she crocheted was because it was more productive (and socially acceptable) than punching walls when she was upset or on edge. Jo was shaking a little, but still putting on a brave face. He started to ask her if she was sure she wanted to go through with the treatment, when she cut him off.

"Okay, I'm all set, so… what do I do?" she asked, grinning up at him from where she'd stationed herself in the makeshift nest with a false bravado that would make Jim proud.

"Neck's most efficient…" he said stepping towards her, hypo extended.

She tipped her head to the side, with practiced ease.

He hesitated, pulling back when he was less than a centimeter away from touching skin. "I forgot, you need the monitor—"

She picked it up from where it was lying on the arm of the couch and slipped it on her right wrist. "Like that?"

"Like that," he agreed. "I promise, this doesn't really hurt; I'll be gentle—"

Jo giggled, actually giggled. "I'm not _Jim_, Dad. I don't have a problem with hypos. Just get it over with. I want to know how this is going to turn out, _now_. I've been waiting for over a year for someone to figure out how to deal with my genes, so just… yeah…"

"I'm sorry it took so long," he apologized as he closed the distance and pressed the hypo to her neck, the virus dispersing with a gentle hiss.

For several moments it seemed like nothing had happened. Jo said she didn't feel any different, and he certainly didn't observe any noticeable symptoms. He was almost at the verge of pacing again and ready to check over his notes to see if he'd done something wrong, when his mother let out a quiet, "oh," from her seat across the room.

He looked up, startled, to find she was pointing with one crochet hook at his PADD.

"Those are the results, right? The PADD is tracking?" she started.

He dashed over and looked at the readout, sure enough a graphical representation of the infection rate and RNA replication and gene repair algorithms was filling the screen, the curves of each tracked category rising almost exponentially. If the data was correct, the virus had almost completely infected her cells, and far faster than anticipated. He strode over to his tricorder and examined the results. _Huh!_ "How are you feeling?" he asked Jo.

"Okay, good, less tired, maybe, but I feel like… like, I'm going to—ah-choo!" she sneezed, surprised, catching the spray in her elbow. "Like I was going to sneeze. Does that mean my immune system's reacting?"

"Well…" he hedged, checking through the data again and again to make sure the data was really there. "I'm already reading production of non-cancerous cells in 82% of your lymph nodes, and that number is rising. The infection is 90% complete, although," he scanned himself, her sleeve where she'd sneezed, the air in the room, "the virus doesn't appear to be contagious to me or likely anyone else… I'm reading a perfect match on the unique infectious qualities. And… you're right, it appears your immune system is slowly starting to assert itself." He looked up from his tricorder, "I say slowly because it's not completely fixed yet, but it's actually incredibly fast given how recently you were infected… damn! Stobann wasn't kidding when he talked about making a 'perfect infectious agent.'"

"So, am I cured?" she asked excitedly, pinching her nose to suppress another sneeze.

"Well," he wasn't hedging, just being honest, "you're not completely cured, yet, but assuming the infection works in the remainder of your cells and your other lymph nodes and systems start to clear… within another few days, maybe a week, your body should be back to normal. It may take a little longer to clear the remains of the chemical therapy you were on, though," he said disappointedly. "I could give you more drugs to try to purge the residuals, and repair the cell damage, but I really don't want to introduce anything else into your system, especially—"

"Especially not while we're waiting for the virus to finish its magic, got it." Jo smiled. "So how long 'til I'm all better?"

"Two months give or take; it will probably take a little longer for your hair to grow back, but the good news is, you're already feeling better, and you shouldn't have to worry so much about getting sick, now that your immune system is starting to work again, _and_ even while you're waiting for the chemicals to flush, you should have a lot more energy, feel less fatigued."

"Thank you, daddy!" Jo exclaimed, throwing her arms up for a hug, but not rising from the couch.

Bones crossed to her and dropped to a kneel, wrapping his arms around her, as she flopped into him, squeezing tight. "You're welcome, baby girl."

"I knew you could do it! You're definitely the most awesome doctor in Starfleet!" Jo murmured into his ear.

He felt the tug, torn again, missing Jim, the unanswered comms, his earlier promise to Jo to revisit the issue of whether he'd stick around or go back to the _Enterprise_ when she was healed. Well, now the time was (almost) here, and he was no more certain of the right thing to do, no less torn. He turned his head, catching his mother's expression out of the corner of his eye. She smiled at him, mouthing something that might have been, "Good job," her expression far too knowing for his comfort. Nevertheless, now wasn't the time to worry about Jim or the _Enterprise_. Now he needed to focus on Jo, and monitor her recovery, and finish up his first report and comm Stobann, and… yep, Bones knew how he'd be spending the rest of the day.

 

~~~

** Part 5: Reevaluations **

The next morning dawned clear and bright. Jo was better still, the infection having reached 99.95% completion before they'd both turned in the previous night. The Commission had their first report. Dr. Stobann and Dr. Strauss both had their updates—Stobann had been far too smug (especially for a Vulcan) about something, but seemed genuinely thrilled things were working. Jocelyn and Clay knew what was going on, and were beside themselves with joy and relief—he was pretty sure Joce had sent Jo's old doctors a very nasty message about Jo's condition and the quality of their care… it would have been out of character for her five years ago, but he was beginning to understand a lot better how Jo's illness had affected her. It was too bad that it took such tragedy, such near-disaster for Jocelyn to shed a little bit of her rigid adherence to tradition, but then again, he understood it very deeply, intimately. After all, without the trauma of losing his father, helping his father die, breaking up with Jocelyn, and (temporarily) losing Jo, he probably never would have been honest with himself that he was _gay_, would have never shed Leo's shell and become Bones. Trauma and tragedy brought out the best—or at least better—in people sometimes.

He and Jo were going to enjoy at least another week of vacation at his mother's—technically Jo's school started back up the following week, but after the bullying and her recovery, Jocelyn, Clay, and he had all agreed she deserved some extra time off and could catch up at home if need be.

With all that sorted out and the immeasurably immense burden of Joanna's illness suddenly lifted from his shoulders, Bones couldn't help feeling like he was starting the first day of the rest of his life in a completely portentous, paradigm-shifting sort of way. So, for the first time since leaving the _Enterprise_ two weeks before, Bones set aside his discomfort, and slipped into dark civilian jeans and an old, soft, worn flannel shirt that had been his father's. The pattern was woven from blues and greens, and if Jim were here, it would say it looked good on Bones, brought out his eyes. But Jim wasn't there, and Bones felt no less adrift without his best friend than he had the last thirteen mornings.

Breakfast was a much more subdued affair than bones would have expected. He made good, old fashioned hotcakes from scratch on his mother's ancient cast iron griddle. And cut up fresh fruit for a salad with Joanna as his helper, while Eleanora ran oranges one of her cousins had sent from farm in Florida. It should have been fun, lighthearted, playful even, but the moment Bones set foot in the kitchen, his daughter and mother had given him identical looks of worry and shock, and ever since they'd been exchanging glances and mouthing things to each other behind his back. He didn't know what to make of it, but Jo assured him she was fine, and he had the tricorder readings to back her statement up. The infection was 100% complete, and she was definitely on the mend.

"I see you didn't wear your uniform today, his mother said," towards the end of the meal.

"Um, yeah." He looked down at the flannel shirt, tried not to think about missing Jim. "I'm not on duty, and I'm not really working, so I can actually relax a little, and there's no need for me to hide behind Starfleet, so..." he shrugged, feeling distinctly like a kid who was in trouble and trying to argue his way out of it.

"Uh huh," Eleanora deadpanned. She shot another glance at Jo that he couldn't interpret, and excused herself to the office... with the door closed.

He looked back at Jo, but she was looking after her grandmother with a hopeful expression.

"So," he said.

Jo turned back to him, features falling into a mask of concern.

"What do you say we play some chess later, after I finish my reports?" he suggested, projecting confidence into his voice.

"Okay, daddy," she agreed. "Let me know when you're ready," and ran off after his mother.

He didn't know what to make of it. Perhaps they were planning some sort of ill-advised surprise, to thank him or something?

He pushed the curious behavior aside and focused on cleaning up after the remains of their breakfast. When he'd finished, Jo and Eleanora still had their heads together in the office, so rather than disturb them he went to his room and finished up the latest batch of reports, emerging only when it was time to send them on to the Commission.

Jo and Eleanora had finished whatever strange conversation or scheme they'd been involved in, and seemed much calmer and less secretive... even if they did still shoot him worried glances every now and then.

He and Jo played chess. She beat him, but whether that was more a testament to her skill or his distraction was anyone's guess. Afterwards they shared lunch on the McCoy home's wrap-around porch.

Bones checked Joanna's stats again, sent out another update, shot a quick comm to Stobann to thank him again and discuss some details of how to move forward with their collaboration, and then Bones was free, and suddenly faced with an overwhelming lack of anything he _had_ to do... a prospect that was far more terrifying than he'd anticipated.

He finally settled on reuniting with the horses as a way to keep himself busy as he tried to figure out the _what now_ that had been nagging at him since he got out of bed that morning. He groomed Peaches and Buttercup, relaxing incrementally with each swipe of the curry comb across their sides. He let them out in the fenced corral to graze and frolic after making sure they had fresh oats and water. While the horses played, he spent a few hours mucking out their stables, and finally saddled up Peaches and took her for a walk and then trot, along one of the shorter paths on the farm. When they got back he spent a good twenty minutes putting Buttercup through her paces so she wouldn't feel neglected.

By the time both horses were exercised and reacquainted with him, the sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, casting the sky in brilliant, almost iridescent hues of purple and orange and red. Thin, wispy cirrus clouds high in the atmosphere added an almost ethereal quality to the tableau.

As he leaned against the rough-hewn planks of the wooden fence—a fence he and his father had spent countless hours working on together over the years—watching Peaches and Buttercup play and nip and graze and whinny, he couldn't help but think of Jim, and the _Enterprise_, and her crew (his family), but most of all and especially _Jim_. Over the past five years, he'd gotten the notion he and Jim would be side-by-side forever, leaning on each other, counseling, reassuring, guiding, keeping each other sane through thick and thin, war and peace, at least until one of them—probably Jim, between his knack for trouble and his permanently malfunctioning immune system, his luck was probably gonna run out sometime, even with Bones there—made their exit from the universe.

Only now... Now it looked like that wouldn't be the case. Suddenly here was Bones, in Leo's old world, with the chance to see Jo, and keep on seeing her, and she was healthy (or well on the way to being), and he didn't have to go back into space. He had a research project to work on with Stobann wherever he was in the galaxy, and he felt like he _had_ to step up and do the 'right thing.' Put being a father first. After all, isn't that what Jim, with his broken childhood, and fatherless life, want?

But if he stayed here, who would watch out for Jim? And who would be there for _him_? What about second chances and falling in love? Was he doomed to be forced to pick the shot at one second chance over another?

His thoughts swirled, as the sky dimmed and sunset deepened, shadows casting the farm and the horses in stark relief. A faint breeze blew across the rolling fields, carrying with it the scent of peaches and home...

He leaned forward, into the fence, dropping his forearms to lean on the top rung.

"Penny for your thoughts?" a voice—Jim's voce—asked from beside and behind him.

It was impossible... he must be imagining, like that scent that had drifted in on the breeze... it smelled like _Bones's_ home, not Leo's—sweat and defiance and apples and sunshine...

"Bones?" Jim—it was definitely Jim—asked again.

Bones turned, as a familiar hand reached out and snaked itself under the flannel shirt, warm palm pressed firmly against his suddenly fluttering abdomen. "Jim?" he asked, voice suddenly both rough and breathy, "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Jim said, an impish grin spreading over his face, as he took a half-step towards Bones, locking eyes. "We're supposed to start our vacation together tomorrow, but seeing as I hadn't heard from you..." He let his voice trail off, shrugged as he patted Bones's stomach, and stepped away. "I love that flannel on you, Bones, you really do look awesome in blue."

Bones watched as Jim—_here, real, whole, mine_—still in his Captain's uniform, command gold glinting in the last beams of the setting sun, walked about four meters away and dropped to the ground, tangling himself up in the fence in a way only Jim could manage.

"I think we need to talk," Jim began, "Only, I don't mean that in an ominous way, you know?" He cast a smile at Bones. "Just, I think I need to tell you some stuff and help you stop being an idiot."

"I'm no—" Bones retorted.

"I talked to your mother. Twice."

Bones turned his head towards Jim, shocked. "You what?"

Jim shrugged again, eyes gazing out over the corral, watching the horses, one arm casually draped over the fence. "You know, you weren't replying to my comms, and our vacation is coming up. I wanted to know where you were gonna be so I could come and spend it with you." He shot a smile at Bones, reaching up to brush blonde hairs from his forehead where they'd gotten plastered in the humidity. Looking back to the horses, he continued, "Besides, I know you, and I needed to make sure you weren't getting into one of your funks... well, I knew you were, but I was hoping maybe you were just busy. But I know better than to hope, so I called your mom."

"Why my mom?" Bones asked after a moment. "'Cause I figured you'd try to make amends, ask forgiveness or something else you didn't really need to ask for, and she's a lot less scary than calling Jocelyn. I mean, she may be letting you see Jo, but I doubted she'd want to hear from," Jim quirked the corner of his mouth up, still watching the horses, "_the other woman._"

"The wha—" Bones spluttered, unsure if Jim had really just compared himself to some sort of... husband-stealing harlot. "We're not even... you're not—"

Jim cast Bones a pointed glance, which shut him right up.

_Oh. It was like that. That was how Jim felt,_ Bones realized as he caught the expression, emotion, intent in Jim's eyes.

"Like I was saying, your mom was the safer bet. I knew she'd know where you were, and lo and behold, you were here, with her. And she told me that you'd almost got Jo cured, but you wouldn't ask me for help getting the application fast-tracked, and you were making noises about staying here, and leaving Starfleet and doing the right thing. In other words, exactly what I feared."

_Huh? Jim feared that?_ Bones shifted against the fence and opened his mouth to speak, but Jim was already speaking again, kicking at the dirt around one of the fence posts with his shiny, black regulation boots, which were quickly becoming covered with red dirt, a small plume of rusty-looking dust billowing across the corral, and glinting in the remaining sunlight.

"I told her I'd already prepped a statement. I mean, I'd never met her, but I love Jo like she was my own, because she's _yours_ and the closest thing to my own kid I'm likely to ever get, and she means so much to you. Besides, being sick as a kid sucks, especially when adults are busy being idiots about your treatment. So, I've been trying to put all my weight and celebrity behind this, only, I couldn't figure out where to send the letter!" He snorted. "So, Eleanora helped me out, and I made sure it was okay to come down here for our shore leave. And then, what do you know, the next day I get this convoluted message from Dr. Stobann telling me you're being a stubborn idiot and asking me to write in. I reassured him of course, and sent another letter for good measure." He tisked. "I have to say, I was disappointed I had to hear it from Stobann and not _you_ when the Commission decided to pull their heads out of their ass. But I was relieved. I was all ready to beam down here tomorrow, but this morning, your mom and Jo commed me again. They were freaking out 'cause you'd ditched the uniform for civvies." He cast an appreciative eye over Bones's flannel-clad torso. "I have to say, I like the shirt on you, just not what it means." He plucked a grass stem from a tuft near the fence and began twirling and rolling it back and forth between his palms. "So, I rearranged a few things, took a shuttle down as soon as Alpha shift was over, and beamed into Atlanta from Starfleet HQ. Caught a hovercab out here, and not one moment too soon."

Silence stretched between them. Jim seemed content to play with the grass, watch the horses, and kick at the dirt. Bones tried to make sense of what Jim had said. Why was he worried, or maybe upset about Bones thinking of staying? Wouldn't he want Jo to have a dad who was around? Jim... Jim had feelings for him... like that? The questions swirled and swirled in his head, circling faster with sun as it sunk below the horizon. He could hear the racket of cicadas as they perked up with the slight dip in temperature that marked the onset of evening.

"I _missed_ you," Jim said at last. So much emotion in his quiet words, Bones's heart ached for having put that loss, longing in Jim's voice.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come," he admitted, tearing his eyes from the horses to meet Jim's eyes. There, he'd said it. Revealed the depth of his self-doubt. They weren't anything official, bound, on paper, so why would Jim come to help Bones's family? Especially if that family might take Bones away from Jim...

"You're an idiot, sometimes, Bones," Jim quipped with an exasperated sigh. "Bones, you _are_ my family, and that means Jo is my family too. If you want a piece of paper to back that up, I'm not gonna say 'no,' although, I thought you might want to ease into things a bit, properly do the whole sleeping and living together thing for a while... we haven't regularly shared a room since the Academy after all, and back then I was still trying to exorcise my demons by being the campus hoverbike."

"You really mean that," Bones observed, his brow furrowing, perplexed. "But Jim, now that I've got Jo, that I can see her again, doesn't that mean I should, you know be here, around, near her?"

"Did you ask Jo what she wants?" Jim asked, his voice soft, barely audible over the evening breeze.

"Yeah," Bones replied, resting his chin on his hands, elbows propped on the rough fence rung. "But I don't know if she's just saying that because she thinks that's what I want, to stay in Starfleet, on the _Enterprise_.

"Did you think maybe it's both?" Jim said cryptically.

"What?" Bones asked, propping his head up higher.

"Maybe she really wants you to stay with me, on the _Enterprise_, and maybe a part of the reason is that she knows it's where you're most at home, happy, yourself? Maybe your kid wants you to be happy."

"But..." Bones started to protest. He shook his head in disbelief. "Funny, I thought you'd be trying to convince me to stay here at all costs, not leave my daughter to grow up without a father."

Jim's face blanched, color draining from it so it looked stark and pale against the evening sky. His eyes narrowed. Bones feared he'd unwittingly made some grand insult, and maybe he had, but the hurt in Jim's eyes softened into something… a deeper sadness. "You know my mom. And you know we don't always get along, but we try. Yeah?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Bones found himself nodding in acknowledgment nonetheless.

"I hated it when she went into space." Jim's voice was strangely devoid of emotion, taking on a quality Bones had only heard when Jim was talking about the really fucked up stuff in his childhood like Frank and Tarsus IV. "At first, I just missed her, but later, after Sam left… I hated that she wasn't there to stop Frank." His voice broke a little.

Bones felt a sympathetic pang run through him. He wanted to reach out and comfort Jim, or maybe slip into the gruff mask he wore whenever emotions hit too close to home, come back with some cynical retort. But he stayed silent, listening, respecting Jim's need to share. After all, he'd come all this way…

"And afterwards," Jim continued, a little more steadily, "when things got bad enough, and I wound up on Tarsus… I used to wish she'd been there because maybe she could have done something to stop it. But somewhere in there, I realized that if my mom had stayed, if things had stayed like they were before she left? I would have hated her. We never could have managed the relationship we have now. I mean it's not great, but it's a hell of a lot better than nothing."

Bones let the words wash over him, as he watched Buttercup and Peaches lap at the water in the long trough, tails swishing gently. He didn't understand where Jim was going, but he was pretty sure there was an important lesson in there somewhere, and he was going to do his damndest to learn it.

"Mom was miserable when I was little. She _resented_ me. I think she resented Sam too, but for different reasons. He was the constant reminder of Dad with his _name_, and I was the one who looked like Dad, who was born the day he died, who was small enough Starfleet kept using it as an excuse to keep her stationed planetside. They were trying to do her a favor, but all they were really doing was driving her mad. So, she _had_ to get away. For all the shit that came after, I'd never been able to just _talk_ to my mom until she left. It… sometimes I think if she'd left sooner, maybe she would have been happier, and I would have been happier, and a lot of really fucked up shit wouldn't have happened. Maybe she wouldn't have married Frank. But that is merely a hypothetical, a 'what if.'" He squirmed, using the arm he had hooked over the top of the fence to help pull himself out from under it, standing fluidly, bushing the grassy dew and dust off his pants, and reaching into a back-cracking stretch.

Bones marveled at Jim's movements, that he could appear so lighthearted and casual when talking about something so—dark. But that was Jim. That was his defense mechanism. Bones doubted Jim was even aware he did it, always making it seem like the painful stuff rolled off him like water off a duck's back. Even now, when it was just the two of them…

Jim crossed the four or so meters to Bones, sliding in behind him, and laying his hands on Bones's shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. "Your situation, with Jo, however, is not a hypothetical. You _know_ you won't be happy here. You belong in space, with me. In Starfleet, on the _Enterprise_. _We_ belong together. That's how you're happiest, how I'm happiest, and Jo knows that. She sees it, she understands, and she's giving us her blessing. I know, she told me," Jim added before Bones could protest. "You could stay and go through the motions of being a dad, losing yourself a little more every day, or you could be the most awesomely unconventional dad in the galaxy, flying around and saving people and telling her all about it—comming her on subspace, exchanging letters, sending holos, spending shore leave with her on Earth—or maybe even having her come up and stay with you—_us_." Jim made a chuckling noise. "It'd be a blast to have her on the _Enterprise_ if we were doing something safe enough she could be our guest. A little mini-Bones running around… driving Spock nuts. Oh, but Uhura would love her, and then Spock would have to try to get along. It would be so much fun!" He sounded positively gleeful.

Bones still wasn't sure. He heard Jim, was surprised by the words, but they made sense, in a way. He'd wondered off an on, if maybe there was still a little bit of Leo's self-sabotaging tendencies running amok inside. Maybe that was something he, Bones, would always have to keep in check. It was just—was Jim really saying he should leave Joanna behind? That it was okay to be an 'absent' father?

Sensing his hesitation, Jim tapped his shoulder lightly, snapping him out of her musings. "She's got Joce and Clay to be there for her every day. They're _good_ parents. It's not like mom leaving me behind with Frank. Jo needs you to be _you_—to be her inspiration, to show her to fight hard, work harder, and believe in things. To be true to herself. She's got that now, so don't take it away from her. Take it from someone who knows… Use this as the opportunity it is, to be in her life, with open lines of communication, but don't make a choice you'll regret later." Jim squeezed his shoulders again, and slipped his arms around Bones, placing a tender kiss to the back of his neck. "Learn from my mom's mistakes. Don't think it's okay to sacrifice your happiness for her… because _neither_ of you will be happy—and, well, I'd be rather unhappy too." Jim hugged him tight.

He could feel Jim's body flush against is back, not a millimeter of space between them. He let Jim's words—Jim's blessing, wisdom—wash over him, sinking in little by little until finally, as the stars were starting to brighten in the night sky, he pushed off the fence, and twisted in Jim's arms, bringing them face-to-face. Their eyes met for a moment before Jim closed his eyes and started to lean in, tipping his head _just so_ to the side as Bones mirrored his actions, only with eyes open. They came closer, closer, closer… until _finally_ their lips touched with a spark of passion and inevitability—soft, moist skin parting, welcoming, tongues darting out and tangling, dueling. Their arms snaked tighter around each other, Bones's right hand sliding up to cradle Jim's head. Jim's left hand slipping around the small of Bones's back, pulling him closer. They kissed, tongues chasing, for a good three minutes before they finally had to pull back for air.

Bones had been waiting for this… something like this moment to finally tip the scales between them, send them across the line from best friends to _partners_. Now that it had happened, he found himself wondering how it had taken so long, how he could have survived so long without having Jim _with_ him—without being Jim's—like this. Everything had changed, and nothing had changed. They were still Jim and Bones, two improbable Starfleet officers who met even less probably on a shuttle, living in an alternate universe and trying to cope with the hand life had dealt them. They'd clicked from that first moment and now they were finally sliding the rest of the way into place, edges connecting and blurring and smoothing until they were one piece.

Jim was looking straight into his eyes, his own eyes shining brilliantly blue and damp with unshed tears.

Bones gasped a little overwhelmed by the depth of emotion he found there. He'd never appreciated how close in height they were before, until now, when he could stare into Jim's eyes and see his own soul reflected back at him.

Jim leaned in for another kiss, open mouthed, without tongue, just a little grab of lips, before sliding around to press a kiss to Bones's neck, just below his left ear. "Don't ever do that to me, again," he whispered. "I don't ever want to feel that alone again. Even Spock was worried. And I was so distracted I almost ate strawberry jam by mistake, and Chekov had to stop me, and it was so embarrassing, and Geoff M'Benga's a great guy, but I just don't trust him the same way I trust you, and—"

"Shh, shh," Bones whispered. He was patting Jim's back. Jim was shaking. Wow. Okay, now he felt like an idiot. How could he have thought staying away from Jim would work? "I'm not leaving you again, not going anywhere," he murmured.

"You'd better not," Jim said with a sniff.

Bones slipped his arms tighter around Jim, sliding one arm across his shoulders, and letting the other drift, naturally, down to Jim's ass. It… well, it was remarkable for how incredibly natural that felt. "I'm sorry," he added. "I thought—"

"You thought you needed to leave and figured a clean break would make things easier," Jim finished for him. His tone saying 'I'm on to you.' "You should have seen my reaction when I realized you'd had boxes shipped here. Scotty actually feared for the ship!"

That reminded Bones, "So, what did you do about my application for indefinite leave?" He pulled back a little, leaning into the fence so he could see Jim.

Jim chuckled, looking bashful, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Um," he blushed bright red. "I processed paperwork to let you start your leave early, so you've been on personal leave the last two weeks, but your regular shore leave's still set to start tomorrow," he said sheepishly. "I was going to consider processing the application only if we were ready to head back out into space and Jo was still sick."

"And you really wrote letters to the Commission?" Bones asked.

If possible, Jim blushed even brighter. "I… I knew you weren't asking me because you didn't like how the system was set up, how much it depended on connections. Knew you were probably feeling sick just using your own title, but you couldn't _not_ do that, and neither could I." He smiled, hand reaching up to tug at the collar of Bones's flannel shirt. "I told them what I thought of the whole setup too. Even threw in a few thinly veiled references to the inadequacy and inequity of treatment of Tarsus IV survivors for good measure."

Bones gasped. Jim just didn't talk about that stuff. "Wow, Jim, you—"

"Like I said, Jo's as good as mine. I would have regretted it forever if I hadn't done _everything_ I could." He bit his lip, rocking back and forth on his feet a little with the pent-up nervous energy Bones found so familiar. "What do you say we go inside, have some dinner? It's getting dark, and I'd like to be able to tell Jo I stopped her daddy from being a silly jerk."

"A silly jerk?"

"Well, something like that," Jim beamed. "What do you say? I heard your mom's making chicken and dumplings and peach pie."

"She is, is she?" Bones said, amused. They had more to say, more to sort out, but for now, he was just reassured to hear Jim talking about food. Considering how much trouble Jim had both remembering to eat and then finding something he _could_ eat— peaches were on the very short list of fruits to which Jim wasn't allergic—Jim being excited about food was a rare pleasure.

"She is, and it's all food I can eat," Jim added, taking Bones by the hand and leading him back along the grassy path to the farmhouse.

Bones glanced up, realized the stars were out; true night had fallen. Back at the house, he could see the lights on welcoming them. It was home, but yet… _Jim_ was home. Smelled like home… He allowed himself to be led, while Jim rambled, taking in the sight of his best-friend-now-partner. Jim looked happy, and radiated energy, but even in the dim moonlight Bones could also see the lines of tension around Jim's eyes, the shadows that dusted his cheeks. He took in Jim's frame, how the gold uniform shirt hung a little too loosely from his frame. _Well damn._ Next time he had a freak out and thought about possibly leaving Starfleet he'd have to be a little more attentive to Jim's health. It was pretty clear Jim hadn't been eating properly. He knew Jim _could_ take care of himself without him there to nag. But he hadn't really stopped think about Jim's motivation or desire to keep himself healthy without Bones around. Bones's heart leapt as it filled both with pride that Jim valued him so much, and shame that he'd once again allowed his need to do what was _supposed to be_ right overshadow what he felt deep down inside. Jim's earlier babblings also finally sank in.

"Did you say you ate strawberries?" he asked, surprising Jim with the suddenness of his words.

Jim jumped a little, and tripped to a halt, just short of the steps leading to the back porch. "I said I _almost_ ate strawberry jam," he corrected.

Bones scowled at him.

"Okay, maybe I actually ate about two bites, and then Chekov screamed 'what are you doing Keptin,'" Jim said in a near-perfect imitation of the Chekov's voice, "and I looked down at the toast I'd been eating and… things went a little fuzzy after that. I woke up in sick bay with M'Benga hovering and Christine saying various slurs against our characters."

"Our?" Bones asked.

"Well, me for being an idiot and eating the jam in the first place. You for leaving me on the _Enterprise_ 'unsupervised,'" Jim explained.

"Ah," Bones said, starting walking again, this time leading Jim. "And I take it that wasn't too long after I left, and you've been forgetting to eat since then?"

"Well not _forgetting_ entirely," Jim replied as they walked up the steps.

They fell into an easy familiar banter, and Bones felt relieved. Tension—worry for Jim—he hadn't realized he was carrying sliding off his shoulders.

Dinner was a pleasant affair. Jim actually ate—a fair amount too, without a fuss—while Jo peppered him with questions about being the Captain of the _Enterprise_. Bones spent most of the meal in silence, watching Jim and Jo and how they interacted. They really were _natural_ together. They seemed to connect so quickly, Bones was a little taken aback. Halfway through the meal Jim rested his free hand on Bones's thigh under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. Bones must have reacted visibly, because after that, his mother kept shooting him knowing—approving—looks. It was so, unexpected… so far from anything he'd expected—his _mother_ for all her traditional Southern graces and acculturation out right encouraging his relationship with another man, he didn't quite know how to react. So he just kept eating, enjoying home cooking he hadn't tasted in years, and relishing the feeling of _his family_ together, around him.

After they ate, Jim offered to clear the table, while Bones tended to his reports and running more tests on Joanna. Joanna was definitely on the mend. If Bones hadn't been previously awed by the precision and quality of Dr. Stobann's work, he would have disbelieved the readings he was getting from his tricorder. Roughly thirty-six hours after treatment the infection was complete and Joanna's enlarged lymph nodes were already beginning to return to normal size. Bones sent off the latest numbers and observations to the Commission, and followed it with a message to Stobann, adding in a line thanking him for contacting Jim.

His attention returned to Jim, he marveled a little that his mother had allowed Jim—a guest—to do a chore, but then again… Jim really was _family_, and maybe his mother understood that better than he did. So he stayed in the office, looking out through the open door at Jim, humming to himself as he dried dishes manually. The site was so pleasing, so mesmerizing, Bones jumped when the comm beeped with an incoming message. It was Stobann encouraging him not to be illogical and accept his mate's advances already… well, it wasn't worded exactly like that, but the gist. Bones smiled to himself, and walked silently across the room to the sink where Jim stood.

"Hey there," he said softly, sliding his arms around Jim's hips and tucking his chin over his shoulder.

"Hey back," Jim replied.

"So," Jim said after he'd dried the last dish and turned so he was leaning back on his elbows, "is Jo okay?"

"Well on her way to being... and the Commission seems satisfied, for now anyway. Stobann says 'hi' too," Bones added. His stomach was fluttering at the way Jim was almost flirting with him, while simultaneously showing genuine concern for Jo.

"I'm almost done here, you want to head up to bed?" Jim sounded so innocent, Bones wouldn't have been surprised if Jim only had plans to sleep. He hung his head, almost... bashful.

Jim Kirk, bashful... who would have thought? Bones realized he needed to answer, not just stare at what he'd almost lost, given up.

Jim was staring at him now, amused, still flushed pink, but more relaxed. "It's a simple question, Bones," he said with a little more of the confidence he usually exuded.

"Um, let me see if my mom has fresh sheets for the other guest room, and I'll get it fixed up for you," he said trying to keep his cool. Judging by the dejected look in Jim's eyes he'd been hoping, or expecting them to share a room. Bones would love that, he would, even if the prospect of sleeping with Jim _like that_ was a little daunting. But his mother would surely never...

"Leonard!" Eleanora scolded. "Did I just hear you say you were going to stick Jim in the guest room?"

Bones spluttered, while Jim chuckled with amusement. "Well, yeah, mom, I figured—"

"I didn't make you and Jocelyn sleep in different rooms when you were married, I'm not going to treat you any differently now, especially not after Jim has come such a long way to make sure you don't do something stupid."

"But, I assumed—that was different. We were married... Joce is a wom—" he started to explain.

"Bones," Eleanora said, earning an affectionate smile from Jim whose arms were now crossed over his chest in amusement. "I want you to be happy. I'd prefer it if I knew you were safe, too," she admitted, "but I also know how different, how much more alive, confident you are since you joined Starfleet, and a lot of that is because of Captain Kirk."

"Uh, it's okay for you to call me Jim, too," Jim said.

"Because of Jim," Eleanora clarified with a nod. "You've got to get it through your thick skull that you're not second class, not in my household. So unless you and Jim are having some kind of spat, don't make him sleep in the guest room on my account."

Bones started to open his mouth again.

"Or Jo's," Eleanora said with a fierce waggle of the finger. "Goodnight, boys," she added and strode purposefully from the room.

"Um," Jim whispered, blushing bright red. "Do you want to maybe show me your room?" he asked sheepishly.

Bones unfroze, struggling to keep up. "Yeah, sure, okay." He gave a nervous chuckle and extended his hand to Jim.

Jim looked at Bones's outstretched hand with a mixture of affection and amusement. "It's just me," he said as he laced his fingers with Bones's.

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to be a gentleman here," Bones muttered.

Jim laughed.

"I can't help it," Bones said in his defense. "It's ingrained."

"Are you going to carry me over the threshold, open doors for me, pull out my chair?" Jim teased.

Bones looked back at him as they climbed the stairs. Jim was bouncing like a giddy puppy. "If you don't calm down, I've got a hypo or two with your name on it."

Jim immediately calmed, squeezing Bones's hand. "That's more like it," he murmured. "It's just _me_; don't get all weird on me." He turned big blue eyes full of emotion on Bones, causing him to suck in a gasp and nearly trip on the stairs. "I'm just so glad we're finally here," he added with another squeeze.

Jim was so serious Bones wanted to give him a slap on the back or maybe a hug of reassurance, or do something much, much more. But they were on the stairs and that would be dangerous, so Bones settled for finishing the climb and ushering Jim into his bedroom as quickly as possible.

Jim looked around as Bones closed the door behind them. The room was a mess—paper journals PADDs and testing supplies and used hypo canisters were sprinkled around the room like some sort of strange snowfall. It was his turn to flush with embarrassment… but Jim…

"This is your room, your actual, childhood room, Bones?" he asked turning a smile at Bones, moonlight filtering in through the window cast faint shadows along his jaw line. "Wow. I never… never thought I'd get to see this. It's special. A big part of you. Who you are."

"Sorry for the mess?" The words left his lips before he really had time to process what Jim had said.

"It's not a mess… it's lived in. Show's you've been working hard for our—for Jo… sorry." The sheepish neck rubbing was back. "Getting a little ahead of myself there. I—I love you." Jim looked up, locked eyes with Bones.

Bones felt like time had stopped. He was frozen and here… "I love you, Jim." He was crossing the room, closing the distance between them, arms wrapping around Jim with an almost feverish need to hold, touch, ground himself. Jim's arms rose up to meet his, intertwining as they half sat, half fell backwards on to Bones's bed, which was mercifully free of detritus.

They landed with an 'oof,' followed by moments of silence spent staring at each other.

"You're, you're really here." Bones was barely aware the words were coming from his mouth.

"I'm here. I'll always be here, if you'll have me," Jim whispered into his ear.

Bones initiated another kiss, a quick tangle of lips and tongue that ended with him trailing kisses down Jim's throat. He could feel his own heart hammering in his chest, while his lips pressed to Jim's neck, his heartbeats like the fluttering of a hummingbird's wings beneath the salty skin against his lips.

Jim's hands were in his hair, fingers tangling, tugging, until finally Bones looked up. "I—I want to make love to you," Jim stammered, eyes wild with a combination of fear and desire.

Bones hated hearing or seeing Jim afraid, so he instinctively reached out and caressed Jim's face with his hand.

"Can we?" Jim asked hopefully.

Bones looked around a little nervously.

"If you're worried about your mom, I think she gave us permission, or her blessing... and Jo, well, I'm sure she'd figure it out no matter what, 'cause she's a freakishly smart kid, but we can be really quiet." He bit his lip, not the seductive come-on he might have given to a prospective lay, but a nervous, almost embarrassed move. "I just really want to be with you, and we've waited so long." He raised pleading eyes to Bones.

"Wow," he said, overwhelmed by Jim's display of desire and vulnerability. "Who'd have thought the famous James T. Kirk would promise to be quiet during sex." He was trying to lighten the mood, but thought for a moment maybe he'd ruined everything, because Jim's body stiffened underneath his, and Jim's face became almost painfully serious. Bones had opened his mouth to apologize, and was starting to move to get off of Jim to give him room to stand or breathe or do whatever it was he needed to do, when Jim stopped him—a hand clasped firmly around his bicep, another hand still tangled in his hair, and one foot hooked into the back of his knee. Bones stilled.

"Look at me," Jim commanded in a soft, but firm, voice.

Bones obeyed. Jim's eyes were full of pain, but hopeful, determined.

"Let's get one thing straight," he continued. "You're not fucking James T. Kirk, you're with _me_, Jim. Jim who loves you and wants to make love to you. That other stuff, you know it's just a persona, a defense mechanism, just sex." he paused, looking Bones directly in the eye. "I don't ever want us to be 'just sex.' I'm not saying we won't fuck hot and heavy sometimes, but you're not... I'm not... That's not what this is about."

"I know," Bones acknowledged, stealing another kiss, resting his forehead against Jim's and just _breathing_.

"I think we're wearing too many clothes," Jim said at last, his voice muffled where his lips were mashed up against Bones's cheek.

"I—I think you're right," he agreed, levering himself up to hands and knees—carefully, considering how precariously close his right knee was to Jim's crotch—and unbuttoned the flannel shirt.

Jim's eyes grew wide and appreciative as centimeter after centimeter of skin was revealed. He reached up with both hands and pushed the soft fabric from Bones's shoulders. While Bones struggled to free his hands of the cuffs, Jim explored his chest and torso with nimble fingers. He tweaked Bones's nipple and elicited a gasp.

"Let, let me get my pants off," Bones panted, his civilian clothes suddenly much too tight.

Jim unhooked his leg from the back of Bones's knee, allowing him to shimmy out of jeans and boxers.

Bones had an awkward moment where his pants were caught on his shoes and socks, but then he managed to kick them off, half-stepping, half-stumbling out of his remaining garments. Finally, he was naked and leaning over Jim, hands planted on either side of his torso. "Off," he muttered, tugging at the bottom of Jim's shirts.

Jim obliged by curling up enough that Bones was able to pull both his uniform shirt and regulation black undershirt off in one tangled lump. Jim tossed the shirts to the side and hiked his hips up enough so Bones could divest him of trousers and shorts, just as soon as he'd slipped Jim's boots off.

Then they were _both_ naked, and Bones found himself gasping for breath as they pressed together, skin to skin, Jim's body spread out beneath him, golden planes of skin and firm, toned muscles begging to be explored.

He started laying kisses across Jim's clavicle, while his hands mapped every millimeter exposed to him. It was hardly the first time he'd seen Jim naked. After all, they had been roommates at the academy, and he _was_ Jim's CMO and personal physician, but there was nothing roommate-y or clinical about this. They were _together_ for the first time, and Jim seemed so, _beautiful_, Bones marveled that Jim was actually his to explore. His fingers found the lines of scars—some old and ragged acquired at times when Jim hadn't been able to access the modern convenience of a dermal regenerator or any medical care to speak of; others were newer, faint lines from phaser fire, debris, surgery, all the injuries too _big_ to completely repair. And then there were the scars, like the fine, white lines around his face, the little dips and divots of skin that seemed collected everywhere on his body, but especially around his face. Some were the result of ill-advised bar fights where Jim had been too drunk or broken to seek medical treatment, while others were older still… Signs of abuse. Trophies from a time when Jim had been too small to fight back and encouraged to hide or actively kept from medical attention. Bones's heart _ached_ for all the tragedies Jim had already faced in his relatively young life. It was too much, too much for any one person to face in a life time, and yet, here Jim was, just past twenty-seven and he'd lived—survived—it all.

Bones didn't realize his fingers had faltered, or that he had tears in his eyes until Jim was murmuring into his ear and nudging his head up to meet Jim's eyes.

"Bones, _Bones_," Jim said over and over again until he had Bones's attention. Fingertips pressed to the underside of Bones's chin, eyes locked, he spoke. "I'm okay. I'm here. With you. That's all in the past. I've got you now." He pressed a chaste kiss to Bones's lips.

"S-sorry," Bones stuttered. "I guess I'm just feeling a little… overwhelmed?" It came out as a question, but he nodded, and Jim seemed to understand. "Jo being sick and seeing her and worrying about losing you, having to leave you behind and … and now we're here." He shuddered out a breath. "I didn't realize I was that stressed out," he admitted, tucking his head into the crook of Jim's neck, feeling the slightly sweaty tangles of Jim's hair and the faintest brush of stubble rub against his cheek as he took in Jim's scent—salty, familiar, _home_.

"If you want to just sleep, we can sleep. I can wait," Jim offered, his voice sincere.

Bones thought about it. Thought about how _long_ it had been since he'd been intimate with anyone. Thought about the thrum beneath his skin that urged him, begged almost, to get closer, _closer_ to Jim. No, he needed this. He needed to ground himself in Jim. He must have said that last part out loud because Jim was looking at him with understanding eyes and nodding. He shifted, could feel Jim pressed against the front of his thigh, still half-hard despite the disruption and nodded. "Okay," he said aloud, "I want to make love to you."

 

~~~

** Part 6: Rebirth and Epilogue **

Bones drifted back to consciousness slowly the next morning, a multitude of aches and soreness making their presence known to remind him of the night before. Of being with Jim. Morning light was streaming in through the window, diffused slightly as it passed through the partly open, faded blue drapes that hung across the window. Bones had the feeling of being watched, and as he stretched, turned, and focused, blinking a few times to clear the grit from his eyes, he found Jim, laying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching him. Bones smiled up at him. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Jim murmured back, expression breaking into a huge smile and swooping in to steal a kiss.

"What are you doing?" Bones asked around a yawn, as he took in Jim's appearance.

Jim was still naked, as was Bones, but where Bones was still sticky and sweaty and could feel his hair was sticking up in places and plastered to his skin in others, Jim was clean, almost glistening, his skin lightly scented with Bones's sandalwood soap and his hair just a little damp, like it was drying after a shower. He also had minty-fresh breath, which made Bones feel a little guilty about the kiss they'd just shared, because he _knew_ his breath was anything but.

Jim seemed to know exactly what he'd meant. "I woke up early and showered," he shrugged, "So, I was just watching you sleep. Did y'know when you sleep the permanent furrow between your eyebrows actually smooth out, and you look almost... happy?" He caressed Bones's forehead, lovingly. "I'd say sleeping with me is good for your health because you still look more relaxed than usual."

Bones couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Stop it," he teased as he reached out to smack at Jim's hip with his left hand, the playful swat turning to more of a massage as he felt the firm muscle of Jim's ass under his palm.

Jim's expression turned positively devilish before he let out a resigned sigh. "As much as I would love to explore you some more, it is almost 0900, and I heard your mother get up and start puttering around a while ago, and then Jo was talking about breakfast..."

Bones's stomach chose that moment to rumble.

Jim chuckled. "Exactly as I thought." He leaned in again kissing Bones's forehead gently. "Why don't you," he said when he'd pulled back, "go hop in the shower, get cleaned up and presentable, and then I'll see you downstairs." He grinned and slipped out of bed, tugging Bones by the hand to pull him up.

Bones felt his eyes linger longingly over Jim's body.

"Don't worry, this is all for you. I'm gonna put on some proper clothes before I head down stairs," Jim reassured.

When Bones still hadn't moved beyond standing beside his bed, Bones took him by the hand and _tugged_, leading him into the en suite bathroom.

"Now why don't you enjoy a real, water shower, and come downstairs when you're a little more awake?" Jim encouraged. "Don't forget, we're properly on shore leave now, so you're allowed to wear civvies without making us nervous. With that, Jim swatted his ass and closed the door.

A nice, warm water shower was good. It waked him up, gave him ample opportunity to relieve some of the excitement he'd had at waking up next to Jim naked. When he was thoroughly clean and his mouth no longer tasted like something had died in it, he exited the bathroom to find honest-to-god cargo shorts and a floral print shirt waiting for him on his bed. Beside them was a note scrawled in Jim's messy handwriting.

_When I said we were on shore leave now, I meant it. I saw you brought the bag I gave you and the pictures. _

Bones smiled and dressed quickly. He wasn't _relaxed_ really, not quite. There was still some part of him that was looking for permission, for someone—his father maybe—to tell him it was okay to go back to the _Enterprise_ in a few months' time, to be Jo's father from afar. He also couldn't shed the stress and worry of the past two weeks that quickly. He had to monitor Jo's condition and submit reports and likely deal with more red tape... But he felt _eased_, at peace, because Jim was here with him now, and Jim would help shoulder the burden because that was who he was. And he loved Bones, and Bones loved Jim.

He emerged from his bedroom fully dressed, he had even slipped into the ridiculously unprotective woven sandals Jim had left for him, he tromped sleepily down the stairs, stifling a series of yawns with his hand as he walked. He reached the bottom of the stairs and was going to shuffle into the kitchen when he heard voices, Jim's and Jo's voices to be specific.

"And then crack the eggs in here."

"Like that?"

"Yeah, Jo, just like that. Now whisk."

Bones poked his head around the corner and watched Jim holding the so-named kitchen implement upright by it's handle, arm extended for Jo to take it. She did. Jo was standing on a step stool to make the high kitchen island more usable for her height. She began wisking, a little choppily at first, but then Jim showed her and she quickly got the hang of it.

Bones smiled. They were adorable together. If he was a different person he might see this as an excellent opportunity to get "dirt" on his captain to embarrass him with in front of the rest of the crew. But that wasn't him. Bones wanted nothing more than to capture this on a holo and have it preserved forever to look at when things were bad, when he needed a reminder that there was good in the universe.

He leaned against the doorway, letting his right shoulder take some of his weight and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He was going to say something, open his mouth and let then know he was there, but then Jim started to speak.

"You know, if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen. Anything you wanna say. I... I know a thing or two about being sick as a kid." Jim's voice was soft and quiet, so quiet Bones almost didn't make out the words. Jim was staring intently at the vegetables he was chopping—green pepper, summer squash and broccoli, all vegetables Jim _could_ and Jo liked—for the omelets they were obviously making. He wasn't looking at Jo.

Silence filled the room for a moment, and then Jo spoke, looking intently at the eggs she was whisking. "It's... difficult sometimes. Frustrating. Adults—Mom and Clay and my teachers and the doctors especially—are afraid to talk to me about stuff. They see me as a kid and they whisper. They go silent when I walk in the room. They try to talk about stuff, important stuff, about _me_ when I'm not there." Her voice was small, but had an edge to it, a _ wisdom_ Bones wasn't accustomed to hearing. "They think that 'cause I'm a kid, I shouldn't hear some things, because it would scare me, or be too much. It's inappropriate, or something, and it scares them so they think I can't handle it. But it's my life. I've been living that, I've been dying..." She paused, letting the words hang there, as if waiting... She was waiting to see if they would shock Jim or prompt some sort of dismissive or comforting reaction. When Jim did nothing more than listen and keep chopping, she continued. "But, they were scared, so they tried to protect me from it, like I didn't know it better than any of them. So instead I just had to act like I was oblivious, to protect them, to keep from shattering their illusion. But that meant I had no one to talk to, couldn't talk about it." She paused and wiped at her face.

Bones wanted to intervene, but he held back, felt like he was intruding on something incredibly private.

"Just because I'm better now, at least hopefully," she shrugged, "it's not like I can unlearn that. What it's like. To be dying; to know it. Feel it. Accept it. It's like I know more about myself and what life means..." She trailed off, stopping her whisking. "I think the adults might think I'll go back to being who I was."

Jim said nothing for a moment. Just kept chopping. He nodded to himself. "When I was thirteen my mom sent me to live with her sister on Tarsus IV." It was Jim's turn to pause, waiting to see if Jo had any sort of reaction.

She stilled for a moment, then reached for the block of non-dairy cheese and the grater, but said nothing.

Jim nodded again, a mixture of respect and understanding on his face. "My mom had just found out why I was acting out, what Frank, my stepfather, was doing, and she wanted to send me someplace I'd be safe, not get into trouble." He gave a bitter sort of laugh. "When the famine came and Governor Kodos divided the eight thousand of us into those who deserved to live and those who were unworthy, who he would have to kill to save the worthy... I was on the kill list." He looked down at his hands resting the knife carefully on the cutting board next to the precise cubes of green pepper he'd just created.

His hands were shaking.

"In the six months between when I escaped the first death squads and when Starfleet arrived, I lived knowing that even if I survived another day, even if I didn't starve to death today, I was still condemned, still gonna die. And every day I escaped Kodos, I still knew I had no food, and sooner or later I was either gonna get sick or too weak to live, and I was gonna die." He gripped the counter squeezing so hard Bones could see his knuckles turn white from across the room. "And when Starfleet came, it didn't make me better; I was still sick, malnourished, almost starved to death. Even when the feeding tubes and hypos and nutritional supplements got me up to a high enough weight they thought I was gonna make it, that didn't take away the knowledge... the things I'd seen, what people had done, what _I'd_ done... that understanding, acceptance, that I was dying. And there was no one to talk to except the other survivors... and there were only _nine_ of us, mostly kids, from the kill list that made it out alive. The therapists tried, but..." Jim let his voice trail off. He was staring at nothing, eyes unseeing lost in some memory.

Bones wanted to put a stop to him, comfort Jim, but he wasn't sure... He wasn't sure he understood.

"They didn't really understand, the therapists," Jo said knowingly, reaching out and squeezing Jim's wrist.

He relaxed his death grip on the counter in response, shuddering and letting out a small sigh, coming back to himself.

"'Cause they only knew from textbooks and training, most of them had never been dying," Jo finished.

"Yeah," Jim agreed, turning to meet her eyes for the first time. "Yeah."

Jo bit her lip nervously. "Can I ask... why were you, do you know..."

"Why was I on the kill list?" Jim asked, his voice much lighter, more present than it had been even moments before.

Jo nodded. "Yes."

"Well, I don't know what algorithms Kodos was using, not for sure, but part of it was because I was a trouble-maker. Even if I had a good reason to be self-destructive, I was still, well, self-destructive, and a juvenile delinquent, which meant no matter what, I'd be a pain to have around." He gave a rueful snort. "But mostly I think it's 'cause I was _always_ a sick kid. I have... well I'm allergic to almost everything—food, meds, plants, just ask your dad sometime what a nightmare it is to take care of me."

They shared a smile.

"And kind of related to that, it means my immune system doesn't work right. Sometimes it gets so distracted fighting off strawberries, it forgets to see if I'm really sick." He looked away again, but Jo's hand was still resting on his wrist. "The doctors, when I was a kid, they were pretty sure it was a combination of the stress and... grief... my mom was under when she had me, and the radiation—both from being born in space in a shuttle with relatively minimal shielding, and from being born so close to the singularity and Nero's ship... It just kind of... scrambled some stuff. So, I was genetically inferior as far as Kodos was concerned. Only thing was, since there was almost nothing to eat and no medical care, there was less for me to react to." He looked back to Jo.

"Thanks," she said. "For understanding."

"Thank you for the same," he replied, barely above a whisper. He stepped back and squeezed her hand. "Now, what do you say we actually cook these omelets before your dad complains?"

"Sounds good," Jo agreed, turning back to her bowls of whisked eggs and shredded non-dairy cheese.

"Bones," Jim called, turning to smile at him.

Bones jumped, feeling ashamed and guilty. He flushed pink and was gearing up to try some scowly comeback, but Jim held up his hand in the universal gesture for 'stop.'

"Thanks for giving us the time, now get over here." He flipped his hand around beckoning in a come hither motion.

Bones walked, somewhat unsurely across the kitchen, stopping only when he'd reached Jim's side.

Jim was wearing the same ridiculous shorts and an even more garishly patterned Hawaiian shirt. He opened his arms to Bones and pulled him in close, snug against his side.

Bones felt suddenly overwhelmed, struck with the full knowledge of how close he'd come to not ever _knowing_ Jim, to losing Jo, to being almost all alone in the universe, without the two people who mattered more to him than life itself. Hell, if fucking Kodos the Executioner had gotten his way, they'd probably _all_ be dead, because Jim would never have been around to stop Nero. In that moment, the universe felt impossibly vast and hostile, and Bones knew that even if he _could_ survive without Jim, he didn't want too. He burrowed his head into Jim's shoulder and held on, not realizing for a moment that the sobs he heard were his own. A moment later he felt Jo slam into him, wrapping herself tight around him and Jim and holding on. He could tell by the dampness against his side that she was crying too, and the moisture in his hair meant Jim had teared up too.

A few minutes later, when Bones was settling down, finding some of the last vestiges of tension leave him so he was boneless and exhausted, Jo pulled back a little and popped her head up. He turned his head to look at her, still tucked as close as could be to Jim.

"Do you understand now, Daddy?" she asked, voice a little hoarse and wobbly. "Why you _have_ to go back to the _Enterprise_ with Uncle Jim?"

He smiled at hearing her call Jim that; it just felt _right_.

"You two need to be there to take care of each other and watch out for everyone, keep Earth safe. I need... I need that to feel safe, do you understand? I know that you love me, but I need to know you're okay. And you wouldn't be okay here by yourself, and Uncle Jim wouldn't be okay here, and we need you both in space."

She looked at him with such sincerity, maturity, understanding, that Bones knew she was telling the truth and _meaning it_... She wasn't saying it because she thought it was what he needed to hear, but because it was what she truly wanted. And he couldn't deny her that. "Okay honey, okay. I'll stay on the _Enterprise_," he agreed at last.

Jim and Jo both cheered, and actually gave each other a kind of sloppy high five.

Bones still couldn't figure out how he'd gotten so lucky, but he was starting to realize that he _could_ be himself and have what he wanted out of life, and that was okay. "Now, how about those omelets," he asked.

Jim and Jo both giggled, but they went back to cooking.

And the omelets _were_ delicious. Even his mom thought so when she came back from where she'd been hiding to _give them space_.

~~~

After that morning, the next six weeks passed in a blur. Bones and Jim had the shore leave they'd planned only _better_ because they got to spend time with Jo and she was healthy and Bones got to show Jim places from his childhood without the distance and regret. They rode Peaches and Buttercup around the McCoy farm, and Jim impressed Bones with his riding skills. Long days riding led to _literal_ rolls in the hay, or at least the tall grasses that would become hay once cut. They also shared picnics with Joanna under Eleanora's prized peach trees. They were opportunities Bones never thought he'd have.

When Jo's vacation was done, and she had to return home for school exams, they accompanied her back to Savannah and spent a few days there, staying in the garden apartment and seeing the old city. Jim meeting Jocelyn was a bit… awkward… but they managed to stay civil, Jim guarding Bones protectively, ready to defend him against any hint of a slight from Jocelyn, while Jocelyn regarded Jim with something like grudging approval. She might not be happy or comfortable that Bones was gay, but she seemed to be genuinely pleased that _he_ was happy and recognized that Jim was a good man and a better-suited partner for Bones than she could have ever been.

After that they spent a few weeks traveling going to Hawaii so Jim could expend some of his recklessness surfing (and getting sunburned, much to Bones's consternation) and Bones could 'relax' in the sun. "Why do you think I brought Hawaiian shirts, Bones?" Jim teased.

They avoided Iowa though. Winona was offplanet as she so often was, Sam had never returned, and without them, Iowa held nothing but bad memories and personal trauma for Jim. Bones wished he could give a sense of home and family back to Jim the way Jim had done for him, but Jim just shook his head, and Bones knew it was different for Jim. His history wasn't the same as Bones's, couldn't be mended in the same ways. He wished he could _fix_ things for Jim, the doctor in him itched to make it alright… but he was starting to understand that a big part of who Jim was, of what made him so great was his own pain, his past, the wisdom he'd gained by growing through adversity. It had given Jim and Jo a bond, a common experience, Bones didn't have. And while he'd give anything to have spared them both the trials they'd been through, he was grateful they'd found understanding in each other.

Their travels provided real time off, away from the stress and pressures of Starfleet and the anxiety of Joanna's illness. Bones had showed Jo how to use a medical tricorder so she could take readings on her self and send them to him so he could submit them to the FGC. She was healthy and doing well, and aside from the daily and (and then every-other-day) reports Bones didn't have to dwell on the tragedy that had almost been.

Five weeks into their six-week shore leave, they retuned to Georgia, staying again with Eleanora with Jo visiting. That feeling of _family_ swelled inside Bones again—the realization that _this_—Jo, Eleanora, and _Jim_ were here for him weren't going to leave him because of who he was, and he didn't have to be someone else to have them, to have _that_.

The day they were due to take the shuttle back to the _Enterprise_ Jo came with them to the spaceport. The mood upon Bones's departure was as far removed from the somber, hostile, dread-filled atmosphere of his arrival as conceivable.

As they stood by the large windows of the terminal building looking out at the tarmac and the waiting shuttle, Jo reached up and hugged first Jim and then Bones. "Uncle Jim… Daddy," she said, smiling up at them. "You two are gonna take care of each other, aren't you? I'm not going to have to worry extra about you being silly and thinking you have to do everything on your own, am I?" Her voice was teasing, but her smile was serious.

"Don't worry, Jo," Jim said, squeezing her shoulder. "I'm not going to let your dad do anything stupid. At least, not anything I wouldn't do," he added innocently.

Bones elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ow," Jim protested, jerking away with excessive emphasis.

"Oh don't be a baby," Bones said with a chuckle.

Jim shot him a devious glare.

"I'll try to keep him from getting himself killed. Don't worry, Jo," he said, smiling down at his daughter.

She'd grown over the two months he'd been on Earth, and she was no longer frail or haggard looking but strong, vibrant. She was even planning to return to her soccer team for the first time in over a year.

"Okay," she said. "Now, I'm going to come and visit you next winter… or what's winter for me, if you're back in system on schedule, right?"

"Right," Bones answered, leaning over to hug her. He still hadn't gotten over _not_ needing to drop to his knee to hug her as he had when he'd left Georgia the first time. "I'm gonna miss you until then. But we're going to comm twice a month, right?"

"And letters every week," she added, laying her head against his shoulder. "Thank you, Dad."

He patted her back, not wanting to pull away.

"Captain, Doctor," a voice said from somewhere behind them.

Bones reluctantly let go, catching onto Jo's hand as he straightened up. He and Jim turned in sync and saw a Starfleet Ensign waiting for them expectantly.

"Your shuttle is ready to depart," she said.

"We'll be right there," Jim assured. He gave Jo another hug.

Then Bones hugged Jo again, and finally, reluctantly, Jim led him from the terminal building. Bones looked back, waving at Jo and her waving back until finally they were boarding the shuttle, and she was a distant speck in the terminal window.

As they took their seats, and the shuttle went through its preflight sequence, Bones felt secure, happy, excited to see the _Enterprise_ again. He had the bag Jim had given him, filled with his most treasured belongings and a new set of souvenirs from new memories they'd formed together, and more importantly, he had _Jim_. And all of the dread and longing and loneliness that had plagued him on his trip down to Earth was gone. With Jim by his side, Bones felt anything was possible.

"So," Jim said casually, about midway through their flight. "I hope you won't mind, but I changed the shipping order on the boxes you sent to your mother's."

"You did?" Bones queried turning away from the window and its view of the Spacedock to look at Jim.

"Yeah, I figured you'd gone through all the trouble of packing up half the stuff in your quarters rather than shipping it back there and then having to pack it up all over again, it might make sense if I shipped it to _our_ quarters." Jim bit his lip, eyes wide as he waited for Bones's reaction.

"_Our_ quarters?" Bones asked, his eyebrow shooting up along with his voice. "Jim, is that your way of asking me to move in with you?"

"Um, yes?" Jim answered.

"Okay then."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes," Bones answered in exasperation.

Jim sighed. "Good, because I already processed the paperwork for the change in living quarters assignment. It would have been… awkward, and a lot of paperwork to change it back."

Bones felt a hint of annoyance, and tried to look angry for a moment, but he couldn't. It was so very like Jim, and exactly the sort of endearing presumption about him that made Bones love him so much. He broke into a smile and laughed instead. "Well, I wouldn't want you to have to process the paperwork. What's next, a marriage proposal?"

"Um, I left the ring onboard the _Enterprise_?" Jim blushed.

"You're serious," Bones realized. "Well, I'll just have to save my answer for when you ask me for real." He was Bones McCoy, and Jim was in his future, and Jo was in his future, and maybe he would get to have the life he'd always wanted—all of it—after all.

_The End._

**Author's Note:**

> ** Shadows of Our Yesterdays (and Ghosts of Our Tomorrows)  
> Author's Notes and Acknowledgments **
> 
> First, I would like to thank coldmero, the amazingly talented author I had the incredible privilege of working with on this challenge. With out her art, this story would never have come to be; I never would have even conceived of it, so I am indebted to her for the opportunity to write this story, the inspiration, and the collaboration that made it possible. Shortly after I claimed her sketch we exchanged emails and IMs online, and she told me her thoughts behind the image. The description was something along the lines of it's a scene where Bones is wearing a flannel shirt, and Jim is in uniform, and there somewhere quiet together on a planet; Bones has maybe been thinking of leaving Starfleet because something happened, maybe with Joanna, and he didn't expect Jim to come. From there we started discussing ideas, strategies, what could happen to get Bones and Jim to this place, how should it resolve, what themes or back story elements would be good to include, how should TOS canon come into play in an AOS/Reboot story? It turned out we were on the same page. Less than a week later, I had a 3,000 word outline, and the rest is history. Coldmero was easy to work with, and we continued to check in with each other throughout the process. She hasn't read the finished fic yet (she wanted to be surprised), so I sincerely hope she likes the finished result.
> 
> Next, I would like to thank my amazing and dedicated betas: Carlos, calamitycrow, engel82, and sleepwalker1015. They went above and beyond the call of duty with this, helping me pick a title, letting me know if the story made sense to people who weren't familiar with TOS canon, finding the horrible typos that result from my temperamental keyboard, helping me work through sticky points in the plot and figure out how to make this all happen, and doing it all wile they were swamped with other work and challenges. Thank you guys! *hugs*
> 
> I would also like to thank the lovely and eternally helpful mods ileliberte and zppitgood for organizing the trekreversebang challenge on LiveJournal, for which this story was composed, and for giving us this opportunity. It was a really novel experience for me as an artist to be doing the claiming, taking a step back and following my artist's lead, and getting a new perspective on the challenge experience. Thanks, mods, for a wonderful experience! I hope this is the first of many.
> 
> Now for some notes about canon, fanon, and other meta-y things…
> 
> This fic is set in the AOS / Reboot 'verse, but as anyone familiar with TOS may notice, I've incorporated a lot of elements both from TOS and the Movieverse and blended them with AOS / Reboot chronology. This means I've made some assumptions, and tweaked dates and sequences in a few places.
> 
> My assumptions were as follows:
> 
> 1) Joanna McCoy exists in the Reboot / AOS 'verse and much of Bones's mental state when we meet him in Star Trek XI is the result of being forced to leave her behind.  
> 2) David McCoy, Bones's father, still contracted pyrrhoneuritis and Bones still helped him commit suicide shortly before a cure was found.   
> 3) Jim Kirk still went to Tarsus IV and was there during the genocide.  
> 4) Jim Kirk has lots of allergies (not exactly an assumption there, but I extended it beyond canon into fanon territory).  
> 5) Jim Kirk's stepfather was abusive, especially after George Samuel (Sam) Kirk ran away from home.
> 
> Putting these assumptions together I found a few problems with the timeline. In TOS / Movieverse canon, David McCoy didn't die until 2264. This story is set in mid 2260. I thought David McCoy's death and Bones's role in it might be a good contributing factor to the implosion of his marriage, so I took artistic license and moved David McCoy's death up from 2264 to late 2254 / early 2255, having it happen shortly before Bones and Jocelyn's divorce is finalized and Bones joins Starfleet. Considering that this is the AOS / Reboot timeline, I'm not sure that's really a big stretch.
> 
> The second big change was I wanted very much to write a story where Jocelyn wasn't a villain. I know that expanded universe works for TOS have established that it was Jocelyn who was cheating on Bones with Clay Treadway, but I've turned the relationship dynamic on its head a bit in order to contextualize Bones's relationship with Jim in the scope of his sexuality and 23rd Century cultural and regional attitudes towards the spectrum of human sexuality. I combined Bones's struggle with self-acceptance with his father's death and used the two to construct a (I hope) plausible explanation for his relationship to fall apart _and_ for Jocelyn to get full custody of Joanna. I hope the result is satisfactory.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
